Neal Who?
by Alyssa Blackbourn
Summary: Neal, apparently running for his life from someone, gets mowed down by a car right before Peter's eyes. When Neal wakes up, he can hardly remember anything, not even his name. Will he be able to put the pieces back together in time to save himself?
1. Hit and Run

_**Hey guys! I had a dream about this one last night, but I'm not sure about it. If there's enough of a response, I'll do everything in my power to continue it. Deal? Great. Thanks for reading, and please review!  
>~Erika<strong>_

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><p><em><em>__Neal's heart pounded as he raced through the streets of New York, his bare feet flying over the pavement, his eyes wide with fear. His pajama pants fluttered in the wind he created as he fled. The conman risked a glance over his shoulder. He didn't see anyone, but he knew better than to take that for granted; just because he didn't see anyone, didn't mean no one was there.

"Neal!" Neal skidded to a stop when he heard someone shout his name ahead of him. He saw Peter getting out of his car, which was parked at the curb at the end of the block. In a split second, the consultant put two and two together; he had been running blind for God-knew-how-long, so the odds were that he over-stepped his radius, the Marshalls had called Peter, and told him where he could cut him off.

Neal hesitated, thinking that maybe his friend could help._ No,_ he told himself firmly. _Don't drag Peter into this! It's not safe!_

"Neal, what are you doing?" Peter demanded, advancing towards him. The agent noticed the fear in his friend's eyes, and he tensed.

Neal, panicked, took a hesitant step back, his heart racing. He glanced behind him and then back at Peter, trying to make a decision.

Peter saw the deer-in-the-headlights look on Neal's face and was put even more on edge. "Neal..." Peter warned. "Don't do it..."

Neal was wound like a spring, and cast another quick glance behind him before turning and once again locking eyes with Peter. Then, without warning, he turned and darted out into the street...

...completely unaware that a car had been racing toward him.

"Neal, look out!" Peter shouted, horrified.

In the middle of the street, Neal froze, his eyes wide with fear as he was caught in the headlights, reminding Peter even more so of a deer than before. Both agent and conman had a sickening realization: the car wasn't going to stop. Neal couldn't make his legs move. He was glued to the spot. He could only brace himself for the impact.

The car slammed into Neal at about twenty-five miles per hour. The conman felt as if the bones in his legs had shattered as he was propelled over the windshield, breaking it with his body before rolling over the roof of the car and finally tumbling off the back and landing hard on the blacktop, whacking his head in the process. He was unconscious instantly.

"Neal!" Peter cried, running toward his fallen friend as the car that may have claimed his life sped away; it hadn't even slowed down. The agent turned and tried to get a plate, and managed to memorize it just before it vanished from sight. Then Peter turned all his attention to Neal. He dropped to the ground beside him, the color draining from his face as it had from Neal's. There was a large, deep gash in his friend's head. Blood stained his skin as well as the ground beneath him. His right leg was bent at an odd angle, and his left arm looked dislocated. His friend's body was broken so badly it made his heart skip a beat. Frantically, Peter felt for a pulse. He was relieved when he found one.

"Thank God," Peter muttered, whipping out his cell phone and dialing 9-1-1. "Hold on, Neal," he ordered. "Just hold on, ok?"

Neal didn't respond, as Peter expected. A couple minutes later, an ambulance pulled up, and Peter watched as his unconscious friend was loaded inside and carried away...

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><p>Peter stared down at Neal's comatose form lying on the hospital bed, his pale skin blending in with the crisp white sheets. The agent shook his head, still trying to make sense of what happened. He turned when he heard Jones, Diana, and Hughes make their way into the room. All three agents froze when they saw their friend and colleague in such a harsh state. There was a four-inch-long gash in Neal's head, and several scratches further marred his face. His left arm was immobilized by a splint. He had broken a couple of ribs, and his right leg, although earlier had seemed like it was broken, was luckily just a sprained knee.<p>

"What the hell happened, Burke?" Hughes demanded.

"I honestly don't know," Peter shook his head. "I got a call from the Marshalls around one in the morning, and they told me that Neal was outside of his radius. They gave me directions to where he was, I went there and I saw Neal running down the street wearing his pajamas. He was barefoot, for crying out loud! When I told him to stop, he looked at me, and he looked terrified. He was running from someone. I know it. And the car that hit him...it didn't even slow down."

"What the hell is going on...?" Diana muttered.

"Well, it looks like only Neal is going to be able to tell us that," Jones sighed.

"True," Hughes agreed. "Peter, on the phone you said that you had a plate for the car?"

"Yeah," Peter confirmed.

"Good," Hughes nodded. "Then until Caffrey wakes up, we work on that. Ok?"

"Reese," Peter protested, glancing at his unconscious friend. "If you don't mind, I'd like to stay here."

Hughes paused, looking over at Neal before returning his gaze to Peter. After a moment, he nodded. "We'll let you know what we find," he promised. Peter nodded his thanks, then watched as Jones, Diana, and Hughes left the room. When he was alone, he let out a weary sigh and collapsed into a chair beside Neal's bed. Now it was time for the hard part: the waiting.

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><p>The next morning, Peter made his way into the cafeteria, dark circles under his eyes, his muscles aching, and in desperate need of some coffee. It was so early that he didn't have to wait in line for coffee. As soon as he paid for his drink, Peter was surprised to see Jones striding toward him.<p>

"Peter," Jones greeted him. "Sleep well?"

"Hardly," Peter sighed, taking a sip of the hot, though not very good, coffee. "You get anything from the car?"

"It was found abandoned about two miles from the crash site," Jones told him. "It was reported stolen about three days ago."

"So this was premeditated," Peter sighed. "Great."

"Excuse me," the two agents turned to see a man in a lab coat standing before them. The man turned to Peter, "Special Agent Burke?"

"Yes," Peter confirmed.

"Hi, my name's Dr. Roy Stevens," the man introduced himself, extending a hand first to Peter and then to Jones. "I'm Neal's doctor."

"Has there been any improvement?" Jones asked.

"Yes, actually," Dr. Stevens nodded. "Neal is actually awake, bu—"

Peter and Jones didn't let him finish. Peter put his coffee down on the table behind him and then he and Jones started racing back to Neal's room.

"Agent Burke!" the doctor tried to call them back, but neither agent wanted to hear what he had to say.

Seconds later, Peter and Jones burst through Neal's door. When they saw their friend's eyes open and alert, both men smiled.

"Neal," Peter sighed. "How're you feeling?"

There was not one spark of recognition in Neal's eyes upon seeing his friends.

"I'm sorry," Neal said slowly. "Do I know you?"

"Very funny, Caffrey," Jones chuckled. "Now what happened to you? Why did you run?"

Neal's brow furrowed, and he looked confused as his brain struggled to understand what was going on. "Who in the hell is Neal Caffrey?"


	2. Memories

**_Hey everyone! Oh my God, thanks for the amazing response. TWELVE story alerts, NINE favorite stories, and SEVEN reviews in just twelve hours? You guys rock! Thanks for reading, and please review! I promise, I'll try to finish this one. Thanks again!  
>~Erika<em>**

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><p>"What happened to him?" Peter demanded of Dr. Stevens as he and Jones stood before him outside Neal's room. The conman was watching the news inside, and judging by the expression on his face, what the news people were saying was really confusing him.<p>

"Agent Burke, as I tried t tell you before," Dr. Stevens sighed, keeping his voice low, "Neal suffered some serious head trauma in the crash. He has no memory of what occurred within the last week, so current events are completely blank to him."

"Current events?" Peter was incredulous. "He can't remember his own name!"

"I talked to him before I came to get you. Neal knows who you are, Peter. He just doesn't have a name or a face to go along with that knowledge," Stevens tried to explain the situation as best he could. "He can tell you what he did on certain days. He can tell you about cases he has worked. He knows what he did. He just doesn't know why. He knows how to do stuff, but he doesn't know how he knows. He vaguely understands that he has been working with the FBI, but he doesn't know who he is, so he doesn't know why. He knows that he was working with people, and he can describe the personalities of those people, and he can tell you what he thinks of them, but he doesn't know their names and he can't tell you what they look like. He can tell you things about himself—his favorite color, what he likes to eat, what he likes to do—and he knows what's going on around him; he knows who the President of the United States is, he knows that Bin Laden is dead, he knows the Giants won the Super Bowl, and he knows that Kim Kardashian's marriage fell apart—and he knows about his life, but he just doesn't know how he or anyone else fits into it."

"So what does that mean for him?" Peter asked with a sigh, pretty sure he understood what was going on.

"I'm pretty confident that Neal will be able to remember everything," Stevens told him honestly. "But it's going to take time. You're going to have to work with him."

"How?" Jones asked, glancing in at Neal, pitying the frustrated, confused expression on the conman's face.

"Like I said," Stevens shrugged. "He _does_ know you. He can tell you certain things about your life. He knows that you're his friends. He knows you. He just doesn't know what face and what name matches the description in his head. It's the same way with himself. He knows who he is, but he knows himself as another person. His description of himself is just like his description of you. He can tell you about his personality. He can tell you about his likes and dislikes. He can tell you almost everything he has done in the past—though some of those memories are pretty sketchy. He's just not so sure that everything he knows about this other, nameless person is actually stuff he knows about himself. I know, it's confusing, and to be honest, I've never seen anything like this. But give it time. I'm sure he'll be able to make the connections between you and the nameless people in his head soon enough."

"So why can't we just go in there and tell him who everyone is?" Peter questioned.

"No, that would only upset him," Stevens warned. "But if you just talk to him for a little while, I'm sure he could figure it out. If he figures it out on his own, it won't frustrate him like it would if someone simply told him about his own life."

"Does he know who he was running from last night?" Peter asked eagerly.

"He doesn't remember anything at all from the last week," the doctor shook his head.

"Well how long will it be before he does?" Jones pressed. He and Peter were thinking the same thing. Neal was targeted. Whoever hit him meant to. They wanted him dead. If they found out he wasn't, they could try again. If they stood a chance of protecting their friend, they had to know why he was running.

"I can't give you a definitive answer," Steven sighed. "There's no telling how long it's going to take for his brain to recover. It could happen tonight, it could happen tomorrow, it could happen next week, or it could happen next year; I can't say for sure."

Peter let out a weary sigh. "Alright," he nodded. "Thanks, Doc."

"If you need me, I'll be around," Dr. Stevens assured him. Then he turned and walked off.

"Ok, Jones, you go back to Diana and Hughes, tell them what happened," Peter ordered, taking out his cell phone and dialing a number.

"Right," Jones nodded. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm calling in reinforcements," Peter told him with a sigh, bringing the phone up to his ear. Jones murmured in agreement, told him he would talk to him later, and walked off. Seconds later, Peter's call was answered.

"What do you want, Suit?" Mozzie didn't sound like he was in the mood for talking.

"Mozzie..." Peter struggled to find a way to break the news to the eccentric man. "It's uh...it's about Neal...He was in an accident..."

"What happened?" Mozzie demanded, his voice tense. "He's...he's not...?" he seemed afraid to ask.

"No," Peter shook his head. "No, he's alive. He ran last night. He was running from someone, and whoever it was ran him over. He hit his head. It's complicated, but he's awake, and he needs you. I'll explain when you get here."

"Say no more, Suit," the con said quickly. "I'm on my way."

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><p>Neal sat in his hospital bed, frustrated, trying to sort through the thoughts and vague recollections that were scrambled in his brain.<p>

_Ok. So my name is Neal Caffrey,_ he thought. _Now, what's something about myself...?_

He still hadn't come up with an answer by the time the door opened and the brown-haired man he had seen earlier entered with a shorter, balding man with glasses at his side. Still, neither one looked familiar to him, even though he was sure he was supposed to recognize them.

"Hey, Neal," the balding man smiled. "Remember me?"

Neal thought hard, digging through his memory, trying to find a name to match the face. After a moment, he sighed and gave up, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

"That's alright," the man shrugged. "You're still you. You'll remember eventually."

"You sound pretty sure about that," Neal commented.

"You still remember who you are, Neal," the man said firmly. "I know it."

"I'm not so sure," Neal sighed, frustrated.

The balding man's eyes narrowed in thought, and then he got an idea. "I'll prove it," he said confidently. "Suit, your handcuffs, please."

Neal watched as the brown-haired man handed a pair of handcuffs to the balding man, looking deep in thought. _Suit...Suit...I know that name...it's a nickname, I know it is...obviously, it's the tall guy's nickname...but who calls him that? I know it...I know I know who calls him that...who calls him that...?_

The balding man grabbed a paper clip from the clipboard attached to the end of his bed, then handed it to Neal. "Hold that," he ordered. Then he slapped one cuff around Neal's wrist and the other around the guardrail on his bed.

"Hey!" Neal protested.

"What?" the balding man asked innocently.

"Let me out of these," Neal commanded. "This isn't funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny," the man said seriously. "You know how to get out of those cuffs, Neal. So do it."

"I don't remember!" Neal said, letting out an exasperated sigh.

"Try!" the man snapped, his eyes worried in spite of his harsh tone.

Neal sighed, looking down at the shiny metal handcuffs around his wrist and then at the paper clip in his hand. An overwhelming sense of déjà vu washed over him. Some instinct he didn't think he had suddenly kicked in, and he quickly straightened a part of the paperclip and began to pick the lock on the cuffs. Within seconds, he was free.

The balding man smiled at him, like a child getting exactly what he wanted on Christmas morning. Behind him, the brown-haired man was smiling, too. Some deep down part of him for some reason thought it was ironic that he was smiling after that.

"See," the balding man said giddily. "I told you."

Neal smiled ever so slightly. Then he frowned, and his brow furrowed. "Wait a minute..." he muttered, glancing between the handcuffs and the paper clip. A memory—hazy, but recognizable—came back to him.

"_Neal!" a familiar voice hissed. "Neal, come on! We gotta go!"_

"_Mozzie?" Neal didn't know where the name came from, but it sounded right._

"_Yeah, Neal, it's me," Neal could see the balding man now. He made his way over to him. Neal watched as the man picked the lock on the cuffs that bound him to a radiator in an unfamiliar apartment._

"_Now come on!" Mozzie urged. "And keep quiet!"_

Neal blinked, coming back to the present. "I've done that before," the conman muttered.

The man before him smiled. "Yup," he nodded.

"Countless times," the other man piped up, moving the newspaper on the seat behind him and setting on the side table by Neal's bed before sitting down.

"You've done it before, too," Neal said to the balding man before him, who he was now sure was named Mozzie. "You did it for me once...you're a close friend of mine, right?"

"I'd say so," Mozzie nodded. "Do you remember my name?"

Neal hesitated. Even though he was sure 'Mozzie' was right, he was still worried about getting it wrong. "Mozzie?" he said slowly, tentatively.

Mozzie's eyes lit up, and beside him, the other man smiled warmly at him.

"Yeah," Mozzie nodded vigorously. "Mozzie. That's my name. You got it."

Neal smiled widely, his eyes sparkling with satisfaction. He laughed slightly, and then glanced at the side table. He did a double take when he saw the newspaper. It was open to the _New York Times_ crossword. It was half filled in. Neal's smile faded, and his gaze went blank as another memory struggled to make its way forward. This one was quick.

_Neal saw the brown haired man. He had the crossword on his desk. He turned to him and pointed a stern finger at him._

"_You touch my crossword, and I will put you back in prison," he said, his tone only half-joking. Neal remembered laughing, and then the memory was over..._

Neal shook his head. "We work together," he stated, addressing the brown-haired man.

The man nodded. "That's right, we do."

"You...you told me that if I touched your crossword, you'd put me back in prison," he said with a slight smile.

The man laughed. "Yeah," he confirmed. "Yeah, I did say that."

"I know your name," Neal sighed. "I know I know it...I just can't put my finger on it..."

"It's ok, Neal," the man soothed. "You don't have to remember right now. Give it time. You'll remember soon enough."

"No...I know it..." Neal muttered, frustrated, groping through the dark chaos that surrounded his memories, trying to find the name that he knew was there somewhere. Finally, he found it. "Peter," he said softly before he could think about it. He turned to look at the man. "Peter. That's your name, right?"

The man smiled and leaned back in his chair with a nod. "You got it," he confirmed. "I knew you would."

Neal let out a sigh of relief, smiling victoriously. Then another name popped into his head, and with it came a string of memories, some bad, most good. His eyes opened wide, and he turned to Peter frantically.

"Kate," he said urgently. "Where is she? Is she ok? I saw her, Peter, I did. I saw her. I got her back. I had her. Where is she? Where did she go?"

Peter and Mozzie exchanged sad, pitying glances. "Neal..." Peter said slowly.

"What?" Neal's voice had adopted a note of fear. "Peter, what?"

"Neal, Kate..." Peter struggled to form the words.

"Kate's gone, Neal," Mozzie told him. "She died in an explosion."

"What?" Neal's heart clenched as tears formed in his eyes. "When?"

"A couple years ago," Peter said softly.

"No..." Neal shook his head, his voice shaking.

"I'm so sorry, Neal," Mozzie said sincerely.

"No...no no no..." Neal had started to shake, moving his head back and forth in disbelief. Tears rolled down his face. "No...she can't be gone...please, dear God, she can't be gone..."

"Neal," Peter said, worried.

"She can't be gone..." the heart monitor beside Neal's bed began to beep at an increasing rate, even as his voice got softer and he appeared to relax. "She can't be...she can't..." Neal's eyes rolled back in his head. The monitor began to sound a high-pitched alarm.

"Neal!" Peter jumped up and ran to the door, shouting for help. Seconds later, two nurses and Doctor Stevens rushed in and to Neal's side. By then, Neal had gone into cardiac arrest.

Peter and Mozzie watched, in a strange, horrified trance, as the doctors fought to bring Neal back. They watched as they got a defibrillator and attempted to jumpstart his heart. Nothing seemed to be working. Then, finally, they got a response. Neal's heart began to beat normally, and the unconscious consultant's expression was once again peaceful.

Doctor Stevens let out a sigh of relief, then turned to Peter and Mozzie, making his way towards him.

"I think Neal's had enough for today," he said sternly. "I don't want him to have any more visitors today. His condition is too fragile, understand?"

"Of course," Peter nodded. "Come on, Moz. Let's let him sleep."

Mozzie was in a daze. Eventually, Peter had to guide him out of the room. Before long, Neal's room was empty except for himself, and the conman was left alone with his memories...


	3. Emily

_**Sorry this took so long, guys! Enjoy, and please comment!  
>~Erika<strong>_

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><p><em>Neal strolled through New York's streets, his mind wandering, only barely aware of his surroundings. When his cell phone rang, he jumped and sighed, pulling it out of his pocket and answering it without taking the time to check who was calling.<em>

"_Hello?" he sighed, rubbing his eyes with his free hand._

"_Hey, Neal," Neal's heart skipped a beat when he heard the familiar voice._

"_Emily," the conman gasped. Then he swallowed and calmed down. "How did you get this number?"_

"_Oh, come on, Neal," the girl on the other end of the line sounded hurt. "Don't be like that."_

"_How, Em?" Neal demanded._

"_Why do you do this?" the girl pouted. "Why do you always do this? And while we're at it, why did you leave? What, were we not good enough for you?"_

"_Em, you know that's not true," Neal sighed._

"_Then what?" the girl, Emily, sounded distraught._

"_You know what," Neal said softly. Then he shook his head. "Look, I'm not coming back, Emily. Nothing you can say will change my mind about that. Please don't call anymore, ok? It's not helping either of us. Goodbye."_

"_No, no, no, Neal, please don't hang up!" Emily pleaded. "That's not why I called."_

"_Then why?" Neal asked._

_Emily paused. Neal got concerned. "Emily?" he asked hesitantly._

"_I'm coming to New York, Neal," the girl told him at last. "I'll explain it all then. I know you don't want to have any part of your old life, I know you never wanted to see anyone from before ever again, and I know you must hate me. But please...you need to hear this."_

_Neal hesitated, painfully aware that Emily sounded worried, sad, even scared. That always made him nervous. "Ok," he agreed. "Give me a call when you get in."_

"_I will," Emily agreed. "Bye, Neal."_

"_See you soon, Em," Neal smiled. He paused for a moment before hanging up the phone and continuing on his way..._

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><p>Neal jolted awake with a start, breathing heavily. When he recognized his surroundings, he relaxed. He knew he had just dreamt a memory, but, frustratingly enough, no matter how hard he tried to remember what it was about, the dream had slipped through his fingers.<p>

"Neal?" the conman turned when he heard someone say his name. At least he had gotten that part of his life down. He saw a beautiful African American woman standing in the doorway, looking at him warm, concerned eyes. Neal frowned, a feeling in his gut telling him that he knew her, but his foggy, jumbled brain keeping him from putting a name with the face.

"Hey," Neal greeted her, in spite of the fact that he didn't know her name. He used his good arm and pushed himself into a sitting position, clenching his jaw against the burning in his chest.

"You remember me?" the woman asked.

"Vaguely," Neal admitted. His eyes narrowed in thought, the name on the tip of his tongue. His eyes lit up when he finally plucked it from his scrambled subconscious.

"Diana," he said at last, raising his eyes to meet hers. She smiled warmly at him and nodded. Neal smiled back. "We work together, don't we?"

"Yeah," Diana confirmed. "How are you feeling?"

Neal shook his head. "Confused," he told her. "Frustrated."

"It's going to get better, Neal," Diana assured him.

"So they keep telling me," he sighed.

"Neal, come on," Diana scolded. "With that attitude, you're never going to."

Neal sighed. "I guess you're right," he conceded. He frowned. "I just can't help but feel like I was supposed to be doing something really important right now...But for the life of me, I can't remember what..."

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><p>A woman with long brown hair and bright, intelligent blue eyes sat at a table at a café just a mile from the home of Neal Caffrey. She looked around impatiently, her expression stressed, and glanced at her watch. She let out a sigh and anxiously checked her phone. She had no missed calls, no new texts. She frowned.<p>

_Where is he?_ She thought nervously. Unable to take it anymore, she took out her phone and dialed a number. She hesitated before pressing SEND.

The phone rang and rang, until finally, she was met with a voicemail.

"_You've reached Neal. Big Brother's listening, so leave a message at your own risk."_

The woman groaned and waited for the beep.

"Neal, it's me," she said, sounding annoyed, worried, and even scared. "Where are you? We were supposed to meet over an hour ago. Look, I have to go check in to my hotel. Give me a call and we can work something else out, ok?" She hesitated, then sighed. "Please, Neal. _Please_ don't back out on me. You really need to hear what I have to say...and, I really, really want to see you again. You owe me that. You know you do. Bye."

The woman hung up the phone, looked down sadly, and shook her head. Then she stood up and made her way out of the café and onto the street, weaving through the crowds. She strode into her hotel and checked in before going to her room and waiting for a call from the infamous Neal Caffrey. Before long, the sun had long-since set.

The last thing Emily Wall thought about before she fell asleep was her little brother, Neal Caffrey...

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><p>Neal sat in his room around three in the morning, watching the news, trying desperately to find something familiar in the stories. So far, the only familiarity he found was that he heard them on a different channel a few minutes earlier.<p>

He looked up when someone knocked on his door. He saw his doctor, Roy Stevens, and Peter standing there.

"Hey, Neal," Stevens smiled, making his way into the room.

"How're you feeling?" Peter added.

"Ah, better...I think..." Neal told them. "I mean...I _think_ I might be starting to remember...but I'm not really sure..."

"Well, your new MRI results are in your favor," Stevens said optimistically. "The damage to your brain is already starting to heal noticeably."

"Good," Neal smiled. He turned his attention to Peter. "Ah, not that I'm not happy to see you, Peter, but...why are you here?"

Peter sighed and pulled a plastic baggy sealed with red evidence tape out of his pocket and held up. Inside was a cell phone that Neal couldn't help but think belonged to him.

"You got a new voicemail while you were here," the FBI man told him. "We need to know if you can recognize the voice."

"I'll try," Neal promised.

"Alright," Peter sighed, taking a seat in the chair next to his friend before playing the voice message.

"_Neal, it's me. Where are you?"_

Neal sat up, wincing in pain, staring at the phone, wide-eyed.

"What?" Peter noticed Neal's expression. "Do you recognize her voice.

Neal shook his head. "I have a name...it's on the tip of my tongue, but I can't..."

"_Please, Neal. _Please_ don't back out on me. You really need to hear what I have to say...and I really, really want to see you again. You owe me that. You know you do. Bye."_

"I know her, Peter," Neal said firmly. "I just...I can't grab a name..."

Peter sighed. "It's ok, Neal," he said softly. "Don't lose any sleep over it. We'll figure it out."

Neal groaned, letting his head fall back against the pillow. "I hate this, Peter," he sighed. "This is my life. It's mine. And I can't remember it. You have no idea how frustrating this is."

"You're right," Peter agreed. "I don't. But it'll get better. I promise."

"How can everyone keep promising that?" Neal didn't seem to believe his partner.

"Because I know you," Peter sighed. "And whether you remember it or not, you are stubborn as hell. If you want to do something, you're going to do it...often times, it's illegal and I end up getting dragged into it, but, you know," he smiled, "details."

Neal smiled slightly. "Thanks, Peter," he said sincerely. Peter nodded and stood up.

"Get some sleep," he ordered. "I'll be outside if you need me."

Neal nodded, and then Peter and Doctor Stevens left the room.

Neal turned off the TV and shook his head, worried for reasons he couldn't explain. He wanted desperately to remember who the voice on the phone belonged to...and why they brought up so many confusing feelings when he heard them. Neal could feel anger, sadness, regret, betrayal, love, empathy, and a fierce loyalty without knowing why.

The only thing on his mind when he fell asleep was the girl on the phone, and how she fit into the life that he could not remember...

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><p>"<em>Emily," Neal was about sixteen now. He was watching a pretty girl of about eighteen load a bunch of boxes into a car. She had long brown hair and bright, intelligent blue eyes that seemed sad. Neal felt desperation brewing in his heart as he looked at her.<em>

"_Emily, please," Neal begged. "Please don't go."_

"_I have to go, Neal," Emily sighed. "It's not like it's forever," she pointed out. "I'm just going to college."_

"_You're leaving me!" Neal shouted in disbelief. There were tears in his eyes. "You're leaving me all alone with him!"_

"_You're not alone," Emily protested. "You have Mom."_

"_Yeah, and when was the last time she tried to help me?" Neal retorted. "She just locks herself in her room, tries not to listen, and cleans up after!"_

"_I'm sorry, Neal," Emily shook her head. "I have to go. I can't stay here."_

"_Oh, but I can?" Neal couldn't believe she was really going. "You're the only one who can ever talk him down, Em! As soon as you're gone..." the young Neal flinched and looked down. "You know what's going to happen to me."_

"_Well, if you would just stay out of trouble, nothing would happen to you," Emily was getting impatient._

"_I can't believe this!" Neal was incredulous. "You're actually blaming me for this? You're taking his side?" Before Emily could reply, Neal shook his head. "Of course you are," he muttered acidly. "You're the favorite. He hardly ever does anything to you."_

"_I can't believe you just said that," Emily stared at her brother in shock. "Neal, please, you...you can't ask me to stay here."_

"_Forget it," Neal shook his head angrily, wiping the back of his arm across his eyes as tears began to form. "Just go!"_

"_Neal," Emily sounded hurt._

"_Go!" Neal shouted angrily. "And take a good last look at me," he laughed bitterly. "Because the next time you see me, it will probably be at my funeral."_

"_Neal, don't talk like that!" Emily snapped, her eyes wide._

"_You know it's true!" Neal shot back. "You know it! It's almost happened a few times now. Without you, it's only a matter of time!"_

"_You don't know that!" Emily was in denial._

"_Yes, I do," Neal said seriously. "So just go..." With that, Neal walked back into the house, went up to his room, and locked the door, leaving Emily alone, staring after him, tears running silently down her face. After a few minutes, she got in the car, started the engine, and drove away towards what she hoped would be a better life as her baby brother watched from the window..._

* * *

><p>"<em>Neal!" Sixteen-year-old Neal jumped, his eyes wide with terror, as he heard someone shout his name. "Neal, get your sorry ass down here!"<em>

_Neal let out a shaky breath and hesitated before getting off his bed, unlocking his door, and heading out into the hall, knowing it would just get worse if he ignored it. His legs shaking, he headed down the stairs. He saw his step-father in the kitchen, a beer in his hand. As usual, he looked pissed._

"_Didn't I tell you to do the dishes before I got home from work?" the man demanded._

_Actually, he didn't. But Neal didn't dare say so. "I'm sorry," he said instead. "I guess I just got a little side-tracked helping Emily pack for college."_

"_I don't want your excuses, Neal," the man growled, grabbing the teen's arm and pulling him over to the sink, which was full of soapy water. Neal struggled to get free, his eyes wide, but it was no use. "I want you to do what you're told for once in your life!" Neal flinched when his step-dad grabbed the back of his neck, hard._

"_I'm sorry!" Neal shouted desperately. "Look, I'll do them now, ok? I'll do them right now, just...just let me go..."_

"_Well, Neal, if I let you off the hook for everything," there was a cold calmness in the bigger man's voice. "How would you ever learn your lesson?"_

_Then, without warning, Neal's head was thrust under the warm, soapy water. Neal was taken by surprise, and his eyes bolted open wide, stinging as the soap got to them. He struggled to get free, fighting against his step-father's grip, desperate to get air. Water sloshed everywhere. Neal was frantic, trying everything to get free. Finally, he thought of something. He kicked out and made contact with the strong man's knee. It gave out, and Neal felt the pressure on his neck release. He pulled his head out of the water and gasped for air. He fell to the floor, coughing all the water out of his lungs._

_After a moment, Neal looked up at his step-father, who had gotten to his feet and was looking down at him with rage-filled eyes. Without a word, the man delivered a powerful kick to Neal's skull. The soaking wet teenager cried out as his head ricocheted against the cabinets under the sink with a loud bang. Neal scrambled away from him, his eyes wide and scared. As usual, his mother was nowhere to be found. Usually, this would have been the part where Emily came and convinced the larger man to back off. But Emily was gone now. Neal was on his own._

_Neal was hauled to his feet, then shoved forward into a glass display case. The case shattered. Neal's forearms were scraped by shards of glass, and blood was everywhere. But Neal didn't think about that. All he saw were the guns his step-father kept in the display case._

_Neal could see the man advancing on him in the reflection in the glass, and he knew he had to think fast. He reached out and grabbed one of the handguns. He loaded it quickly, and then turned around to face his attacker as blood flowed from his cut arms._

"_You won't do anything," the man laughed as Neal's bloody hands shook. "You don't have the stomach."_

_He started advancing toward the teenager. Neal's survival instinct took over, and he pulled the trigger. The bullet buried itself in the man's leg, and he cried out. Neal looked at him, his eyes wide, and dropped the gun. He made sure to stay out of reach as he went to the kitchen and grabbed some rags, using them to try and stop the bleeding coming from his arms._

_For the first time in only God knew how long, Neal's mom emerged from her hiding place to see what had happened. She took in the sight of her bleeding husband and her bleeding, terrified son, and quickly went to Neal's side._

"_Mom," Neal was crying now, "they won't stop bleeding. Why won't they stop bleeding?"_

"_It's ok, dear," his mother soothed. She wrapped a few rags tightly around each forearm, then grabbed some duct tape and taped them tightly to stop the bleeding._

"_Go get your things," she ordered. "You're going to have to go."_

"_What?" Neal was wide eyed. "You're throwing me out?"_

"_No, Neal, I'm asking you to save yourself and get the hell out of here," her eyes were full of pain as she spoke. She put a tender hand on her son's cheek. "I'm not ready to leave him yet," she said softly. "But I can't let you suffer anymore. Go. Now."_

_Neal hesitated, then ran to his room, grabbed some clothes, shoved them in a backpack, got some of his stuff, and took off, never once stopping or looking back. From now on, the young man was truly on his own._


	4. Crash

_**Hey guys! Sorry this took so long. Life has been crazy. But, just so you know, if I had gotten more reviews instead of story alerts and favorites, I would have written faster. I'm not asking for a long, award-worthy speech. Just a couple sentances will do about how you think it's going so far. That's all. Anyway, thanks for reading! Btw, I AM glad you guys have been adding this to your story alerts and favs. Don't think I'm not, because I am. Thanks!  
>~Erika<strong>_

* * *

><p>Emily Wall woke up the next morning and immediately checked her messages. There was still no activity. The young woman sighed, got up, took a shower, and got ready for the day, her little brother dominating her thoughts.<p>

Around ten-thirty, she heard a knock at her door. Emily hesitated before going to open it. She saw two men, both wearing suits, one tall with brown hair and eyes, the other slightly shorter and African American.

"Emily Wall?" the taller one asked. Emily hesitated, then nodded. "We're here about Neal Caffrey."

Emily froze, then slammed the door in their faces and locked it before turning and running to a window in the back of her room that led out to the fire escape. She had just climbed out when the door burst open and the two men rushed in, guns in hand.

_Oh my God!_ Emily thought in terror. She closed the window behind her and raced down the first flight of stairs to the landing for the next floor. She heard someone on the fire escape behind her, but didn't dare slow down to see who had followed her. She took the stairs two at a time, using the railings to support herself. When she got to the last landing, all that was between her and freedom was a ladder. The girl climbed down a couple rungs, then jumped down. When she steadied herself, stood up, and turned, she discovered that she was staring down the barrel of a gun, wielded by the brown haired man. When she looked above her, she saw the African American man also had a gun trained on her.

"I'm not going to tell you where Neal is!" Emily snapped, her voice strong even though her eyes were wide and terrified.

"We _know_ where Neal is," the brown haired man said seriously.

"Really?" Emily was shocked. "Then...why...?"

"I'm Special Agent Peter Burke of the FBI," the man told her, taking out a badge and showing it to her. "That's Special Agent Clinton Jones. We're friends of Neal's.

"Why should I believe you?" Emily challenged.

"Because we're telling the truth," Peter said firmly as Jones jumped down from the fire escape.

"If you're telling the truth, then where's Neal?" Emily demanded, her body still wound like a spring, ready to take off.

"That depends," Peter said through narrowed eyes. "Who is he to you?"

Emily hesitated, debating her options in her head.

"My brother," she said at last. "Neal's my baby brother."

* * *

><p>"Neal and I aren't exactly close," Emily told the two agents as they sat in her hotel room. "We haven't talked in years."<p>

"What happened?" Peter asked.

"I, uh...I went to college," Emily sighed. "Neal never really forgave me for that."

"Why not?" Peter was confused.

"Well, um..." Emily looked down. "When I was nine and Neal was seven, our mom started to date again after our dad..." she shook her head. "Anyway, after I turned eleven, mom married Joe. For a while, things were great. But then he, uh...he turned out to be a jackass. It was a lot harder for Neal than it was for me. Joe only rarely went after me. But Neal...I tried to stop him but..." Emily sighed. "I needed to get out of there. I got the chance to go to college and I took it, no hesitation. Neal and I had a huge fight before I left. He felt so betrayed...But I couldn't stay. I couldn't do it anymore. Anyway, on my first day at college, I got a call from Mom. She told me that Neal and Joe got in a fight. Neal was shoved through a display case, where Joe kept his guns, and...he shot Joe in the leg. Then he ran off. I tried to call him. I tried to find him, but he didn't want to be found. Neal's really good at disappearing."

"Yeah, we know," Peter nodded.

"Anyway," Emily sighed. "I looked for him off and on for the next fifteen years, but I could never find him. Then, a couple years ago, I started getting really close. Apparently, someone heard about my newfound success."

"Who?" Jones spoke up from his place beside Peter.

"I don't know," Emily admitted. "This guy showed up at my apartment. He said that I should tell him when I actually found Neal. When I refused, he threatened me." Emily shook her head. "Look, I have to know. What happened to my brother? Is he ok?"

Peter and Jones exchanged glances.

"Neal was in an accident," Peter said at last. "A hit-and-run."

Emily's eyes widened, and her hands flew to her mouth. "Oh my God," she gasped. "Is he alright?"

"Well, he's alive," Jones sighed. "He suffered some brain damage...it's pretty bad..."

"He's fine," Peter assured her. "But he, uh...he's having trouble remembering a lot of things about his life."

"Oh God," Emily shook her head. "Can I...Can I see him?"

"I don't think that's a good idea right now," Peter said honestly. "Neal barely remembers who he is. It would only frustrate him if he learns that he forgot his own sister."

"But, I..." Emily tried to protest, but she gave it up with a sigh. "Alright," she agreed.

"Can you describe the man who threatened you?" Peter asked. Emily nodded. "Ok, so we're going to take you to the FBI and have you talk to our sketch artist, ok?"

"Ok," the woman nodded. Peter smiled encouragingly at her, and then the three of them made their way out to the street...

* * *

><p>Peter and Jones sat in the front seats of Peter's car. Emily sat in the back seat. The car was silent. Peter turned onto a side street to avoid some traffic. As they cruised through an intersection, they were suddenly blind-sided by an SUV. No one had time to scream as the sound of crunching metal filled their ears.<p>

When they finally stopped moving, Peter looked around, his eyes fuzzy. "Emily," he murmured. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah," Emily nodded, wincing in pain. There was glass in her face and arms, and a bruise was already beginning to form on her forehead, but she looked relatively ok. Then Peter turned his attention to Jones. It was his side of the car that had taken the most damage.

"Jones," Peter sighed. "Jones, you good?"

Jones didn't respond.

"Jones?" Peter reached over and prodded his friend. He got no response. Nervously, he checked his pulse. He was relieved to feel his colleague's heart still beating strong.

Peter sighed, disoriented and in pain. Suddenly, his window shattered, and the doors were unlocked. Emily screamed when her door was pulled open and she was dragged outside. Peter fumbled for his gun as his door, too, was hauled open and he was yanked out of his seat and forced onto the ground. Someone swiped his gun from him, and the FBI man was left defenseless. Peter tried to sit up, but he felt someone step on his back, pinning him down.

"Hello, Agent Burke," he heard a man sneer. He felt someone haul him to his feet and shove him against the car, pinning him there and pressing his own gun into his ribs. The man attacking him had hazel eyes that sparkled with a sense of superiority and light brown hair that was cut short and kept neat.

"It's nice to meet you," he continued. Peter struggled violently to get free. The man got annoyed and struck the agent across the face with the gun.

"Ah, ah, ah," the man warned. "Behave, Agent. How would Neal feel if he discovered that you got his sister killed?"

Peter glanced behind the man and saw Emily being held at gunpoint by another man. Immediately, Peter went still.

"Good, Agent Burke, good," the man pinning him to the car approved with a nod. "Now give me your phone."

Peter hesitated, then reached into his pocket and handed over his cell phone.

"Thank you," the man grinned. Peter jumped when he threw the phone to the ground with all his strength. The phone broke on impact, the screen shattering. "Now stay right here," The man spun Peter around so the agent's back was to Emily and the other captor, and his own back was to the car. He let go of Peter's suit and sat down in the driver's seat of the car. He kept the gun trained on Peter, then reached over to Jones. He took the unconscious agent's gun and handcuffs, and slapped one cuff around Jones' left wrist and one around the steering wheel. Then he took the keys and threw them out of the car and into the street. Finally, he got out of the car and turned to Peter.

"Let's go, Agent," the man smiled. Then he and his partner forced Peter and Emily into the back seat of an SUV that had pulled up alongside the wreckage. One of the captors climbed in the back with them, and the other climbed into the passenger seat. The driver of the car, a man in his late twenties with brown hair and green eyes, took off as soon as the doors were closed...

* * *

><p>Peter struggled against the cuffs that bound him to the support post in the small, dark room he was forced into when they got out of the car. Emily wasn't with him. She was in a different room. There was only a bare light bulb above him as a source of pale light, casting most of the room in shadow.<p>

"Don't waste your energy," warned someone leaning against the door. "You're not getting out of those. You're no Neal."

"No," Peter admitted. "I'm the man who caught him."

"True," the man allowed. As he walked toward him and stepped into the space illuminated by light, Peter recognized him as the man who pulled him out of the car. "But somehow I doubt that you could ever do what he does."

"What he did," Peter corrected. "Neal's changed."

Hazel Eyes laughed out loud. "Dalmatians don't change their spots, Agent Burke," he chuckled. "He may have you fooled, but he's the same as he has always been."

"How do you know that?" Peter asked doubtfully.

"Call it a gut feeling," the man shrugged. He started pacing in front of the restrained agent, studying him, seeming to be fascinated by him.

"What do you want?" Peter demanded, still struggling to get free.

"It's nothing personal, Peter—can I call you Peter?—It's just business," Hazel Eyes shrugged. "Neal has skills that are very profitable. He's one of the best out there. He had a momentary and fatal lapse in judgment with Kate, but now, that's out of the picture. And now, he can start churning out quality forgeries and making us rich."

"That's a great plan," Peter conceded. "There's just one problem."

"Oh?" Hazel Eyes raised an eyebrow. "And what's that?"

"Neal," Peter smirked. "When you idiots ran him over, he hit his head. He hardly remembers who he is."

"Wait, what?" Hazel Eyes stopped pacing in front of the agent, sounding genuinely surprised.

"You ran Neal over a couple days ago," Peter stated, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Think about that for a second," Hazel Eyes said with a humorless, obviously upset chuckle. "Why would we run our future asset over with a car when we could have very well killed him, as well as any chances at the money he could have made us?"

"Well, if you didn't run him over, then who did?" Peter sounded doubtful.

"You're the FBI," Hazel Eyes said pointedly. "Why don't you tell me?"

"Look, the point is," Peter sighed. "Neal's no use to you. His is so confused right now. He barely knew who he was when he woke up. We had to tell him his own name. He was trying so hard to remember his life, his heart gave out. It's not worth it, taking him."

"Nice try, Peter," Hazel Eyes smirked. "But in the long run, having Neal around is profitable enough to make any issues we encounter along the way worthwhile."

Peter was quiet, unsure how to answer.

"So Neal's in the hospital, huh?" Hazel Eyes asked, beginning to pace again. "Which one?"

"Nice try," Peter laughed. "But there's no way in hell I'm telling you. Why don't you figure it out yourself?"

"Why would I do through all that trouble when I have you right here?" Hazel Eyes questioned with a small half-smile, his voice calm and rational.

"Because, you're not going to get anything out of me," Peter told him defiantly.

"Oh, I'm not, am I?" Hazel Eyes chuckled.

"Nope," Peter shook his head.

Hazel Eyes laughed whole-heartedly. "You know, I like you, Peter," he said sincerely. "I really wish you were going to get out of this arrangement alive, I do. But, unfortunately, Fate was not on your side today. Why don't you just make things easier on yourself and tell me what I want to know?"

"Because Neal is my friend," Peter snapped. "And right now, he's confused, he's frustrated, and he's completely defenseless. I will not feed him to the sharks just to save my own skin. I can't justify that under any circumstances."

"How very noble," Hazel Eyes sounded unimpressed. "Loyalty like that will only get you in trouble."

"Maybe," Peter conceded. "But I know he'd do the same for me."

"Well, one way or another, we're going to find him," Hazel Eyes pointed out.

"I'm sure you're right," Peter acknowledged. "But the longer I keep my mouth shut, the longer that's going to take. The longer it takes, the more time my people have to figure out what's going on, to put more people on Neal's protection detail, and to start finding us."

The fist came out of nowhere, delivering a strong blow to Peter's abdomen. The agent doubled over as much as he could, the wind knocked out of him, struggling to draw air into his lungs. Before him, Hazel Eyes smirked, seeming to enjoy Peter's discomfort. As Peter's breathing began to return to normal, his captor quickly regained his composure and cleared his throat.

"Do yourself a favor, Peter," He said at last as Peter began to straighten up. "Just give it up. Things will be so much easier for you later if I know we can have a working relationship."

"We can't," Peter growled.

"Shame," Hazel Eyes frowned. Then he sighed. "Alright, well, I'm gonna go. I'll be back later, ok?"

Peter watched as Hazel Eyes turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. Peter was left alone in the dark, cold room, continuing to struggle against the handcuffs...


	5. Caught in the Spider's Web

**_Thanks for the reviews, guys! Reviews always make me write faster. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thanks for reading!  
>~Erika<em>**

* * *

><p>"Jones!" Jones looked up when he heard Hughes call his name. His boss was jogging from his car over to where he sat on the back of the ambulance. Hughes looked at the wreckage of the two cars in the middle of the road in wide-eyed confusion. "What happened?" the senior agent asked, looking around. "Where's Burke?"<p>

Jones flinched as the paramedic tending to him finished stitching the gash in his head closed. "I don't know," he admitted with a sigh. "We were taking Emily Wall back to the office so she could talk with a sketch artist. The car came out of nowhere and slammed right into us. I hit my head on something, and then it was lights out for me. I woke up about the time the ambulance pulled up. By then, Peter and Emily were gone. They took my gun, handcuffed me to the steering wheel, and threw my keys out into the street."

"Oh God," Hughes let out a big sigh, trying to think.

"I'm sorry, Hughes," Jones said sincerely.

"It's not your fault," Hughes said firmly. He paused. "Ok, um," he turned his attention to the paramedic who was placing a strip of gauze over the gash in Jones' head. "How is he?"

"No broken bones," the young man reported as he taped the gauze in place. "He'll be sore for a few days, but nothing permanent. I think he should go to the hospital and get his head checked out. The fact that he lost consciousness says that he has a concussion, but I wouldn't rule out something more serious, like a fractured skull."

"Alright," Hughes nodded. "Jones, you go to the hospital, get yourself checked out. Diana and I will get to work finding Peter and Emily."

"No," Jones refused.

"Excuse me?" Hughes was shocked.

"With all due respect, sir," Jones changed his tone. "I can't go to the hospital and have some doctor tell me that I should sit on my ass and do nothing when that is exactly what I did earlier when I let them get away with Peter and Emily, not when I could be helping find them. It has been a long day, and if they someone tells me to sit this one out, I'm going to argue, and if I argue today, I might end up punching someone. And I don't want to do that."

Hughes hesitated. Then he sighed and nodded. "Ok," he agreed. "But if I think you're not up to it, for even a second, you're out. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Jones nodded in agreement, looking relieved.

"Alright," Hughes looked around, his eyes darkening when he spotted the wreckage. The SUV that slammed into his agents was still there. The man's expression hardened, his mouth set in a firm line. "Let's get to work."

* * *

><p>Diana stood watch outside Neal's hospital room, her eyes examining each passerby critically. She glanced in at her friend in the hospital bed, and her eyes filled with pity. Neal still looked so confused and frustrated that it made Diana's heart ache with sympathy.<p>

The agent heard footsteps approaching, and quickly turned to see who was coming closer. She saw a man advancing toward her, dressed in the same outfit she had seen other doctors wear many times. The man himself, however, she did not recognize.

"Agent Berrigan?" the man asked, coming to a stop before her.

"Yes," Diana confirmed, her senses on high alert, her muscles tense. "And you are?"

"Hi, I'm Dr. Carmichael," the man introduced himself, shaking her hand firmly. "I'm going to be filling in for Dr. Stevens today."

"And where is Dr. Stevens?" Diana questioned, refusing to relax.

"His wife went into labor," Carmichael explained. "He's still in the hospital if we need him but, understandably, he's asked us not to need him."

"Understandable," Diana agreed.

"So," Carmichael sighed, "Neal's only scheduled for one test today; all he needs is a chest x-ray to make sure all his ribs are healing properly."

"Sounds good," Diana nodded, relaxing slightly.

"After you," Carmichael motioned to the door. Diana smiled at him, then pulled the door open and made her way inside. The doctor followed close behind. Neal looked over from the TV and smiled, seeing is colleague. Diana smiled back encouragingly.

Then, without warning, Carmichael's arm wrapped around her throat in a sleeper hold. Diana immediately began to fight him, but he was ready for her. He blocked every blow she attempted to land on him. He was cutting off the blood flow to her brain, and she knew that it would only be a few seconds before she was unconscious.

"Diana!" Neal shouted in alarm. He turned around, wincing in pain, attempting to press the button on the headrest that would call the nurse. Carmichael saw this and, with his free hand, reached around Diana's body and grabbed her gun, pulling it from the holster and aiming it at Neal as Diana began to grow limp in his arms.

"Don't do it, Neal," Carmichael warned. Neal froze, turning back to look at him. The conman's wide-eyed gaze fell on Diana. Agent and consultant locked eyes for a heartbeat or two before Diana lost consciousness. Carmichael lowered her limp form to the floor, then turned his attention to Neal. He grabbed a wheelchair sitting in the corner of the room and brought it over to the side of the injured man's bed.

"What did you do?" Neal demanded, looking at his fallen friend with eyes that gleamed with terror.

"Ah, relax, Neal," Carmichael said casually, as if he were simply talking about the weather. "She's still alive. She'll wake up eventually."

Neal didn't answer, unsure what he could say. Carmichael adjusted the wheelchair and looked at Neal, who was still staring down at Diana.

"Hey, Neal," he said, getting the conman's attention. "Let's lay down some ground rules, ok? Rule number one, you do exactly as I tell you. Rule number two, you scream, or try to get help, and I shoot you, and little miss Diana in the head. Understood?" he didn't wait for an answer, "Great. Now get in the wheelchair."

Neal made no move to obey, glancing between the man with the gun and his fallen colleague.

Carmichael flicked the safety off the gun and took aim at Neal's head. "Don't make me ask you again," he growled threateningly. Neal glanced at Diana again and, biting his tongue against the burning, crippling pain that tore through his broken body, he slowly began to make his way into the chair. The process was especially difficult because of the fact that his arm was still immobilized and braced against his body, and his leg was kept straight by another brace. Finally, he was settled in the wheelchair. One of the leg supports was stuck out to support his braced leg. As Carmichael began to push Neal out into the hallway, Neal could hear Diana's phone vibrating in her pocket.

As Neal was guided through the hallway, he passed many doctors and patients. His heart raced as he passed them by. He wanted desperately to call out to them, to get help, but he knew that would only earn him a bullet in the back of the head. So he kept his mouth shut as Carmichael led him out the back door and into the alley behind the hospital. There was a van with a ramp waiting for him there. Carmichael pushed Neal inside the van, locked the wheels on his chair, and began to pull the ramp inside.

Neal wasn't the only one in the back of the van. Sitting across from him was a man with hazel eyes and brown hair that was cut short and neat. The man smiled at him.

"Hello, Neal," he greeted him. As he spoke, he pulled a zip tie out of his pocket and used it to bind Neal's right wrist to the arm of the wheelchair. "Nice to meet you."

"Who are you?" Neal demanded as Carmichael pulled the doors closed and the van started to roll forward. "Where are we going?"

"Who we are isn't important," Hazel Eyes shrugged. "As for where we are going, we are going to visit your friend Peter in the place that will essentially be your office for the foreseeable future."

"P...Peter?" Neal was wide-eyed. "What did you do?"

"Oh, relax, Neal," the man before him rolled his eyes. "He's fine. I'll bet he's a little sore, but what do you expect after a car crash?"

"Car crash?" Neal was confused and on edge. "What are you talking about?"

"Why don't you let him tell you when we get there?" Hazel Eyes suggested. "Now shut up."

Neal obediently kept quiet the rest of the trip, though he still struggled against the zip tie until the unyielding plastic dug into his flesh. About half an hour later, the van came to a stop, and Hazel Eyes and Dr. Carmichael stood up.

"Time to go, Neal," Hazel Eyes stated with a smile. He had a dark cloth bag in his hand, which he promptly placed over Neal's head before opening the back doors and taking him out of the van. Neal felt himself being wheeled across uneven ground. He bit his tongue to stop from crying out as he was rolled down a flight of stairs. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Hazel Eyes plucked the bag off Neal's head. The consultant looked around. He discovered that he was in the basement of some place. There were rooms on either side of him, four total. Hazel Eyes brought him to one room and pulled open the door before pushing Neal inside.

Neal's eyes widened when he saw Peter restrained to the support post, his face cut and bruised, his shirt stained with blood. Peter looked just as shocked to see him.

"Neal," Peter gasped, no longer struggling to get free.

"Peter...what's going on...?" Neal's eyes were still wide with confusion. "What happened?"

Peter ignored him. Instead, he turned and glared at Hazel Eyes. "How did you find him?" he demanded.

"I told you we'd find him eventually," Hazel Eyes smirked. "It didn't take very long. I knew we didn't need you to find him; I just wanted to see how the rest of your stay here would be, based on your response. I'll be honest, Peter...you didn't exactly pass the test."

"I'll live," Peter shrugged.

"No," Hazel Eyes grinned, his expression like that of a snake. "You won't."

Peter didn't respond, his mouth a hard line.

"Well," Hazel Eyes sighed, "I'm going to go confer with our resident doctor. You two have fun while I'm gone."

Neither captive answered as Hazel Eyes turned and walked away. As soon as they were alone, Neal and Peter locked eyes.

"What happened?" Neal asked before Peter could say anything.

Peter hesitated, then sighed. "We figured out who called you," he said at last. "We were going to go pick her up."

"Who is she?" Neal demanded. "And where's Jones?"

"You remember Jones?" Peter looked pleasantly surprised.

"You're stalling," Neal wasn't in the mood to beat around the bush.

Peter hesitated. "Her name is Emily Wall," Peter told him at last. A feeling in the pit of Neal's stomach told him that he knew this Emily girl, whoever she was. He waited anxiously for Peter to continue. "She's your sister."

"My what?" Neal had not expected for Peter to say that.

"Emily is your sister, Neal," Peter repeated. "Do you remember her?"

Neal hesitated, thinking hard. He closed his eyes, his brow furrowed in thought. Slowly, vague threads of memories came back to him. Images of a young version of himself and an older girl playing in a park; the girl teaching him to ride a bike; a woman he suspected was his mother getting remarried; a man hitting him, kicking him; the girl coming to his aid; the girl packing boxes into a car; the girl driving away; getting shoved into some glass; shooting the man that pushed him; and finally running away from his home flashed through his mind.

"I...I think so..." Neal nodded, letting out a shaky breath. "Yeah...actually, I think I do..." he shook his head. "What happened?"

"We were taking her back to the FBI," Peter explained. "They rammed our car. Jones was unconscious, and they took me and Emily so that they would have leverage to make you do what they want."

"And what exactly is that?" Neal asked hesitantly, unsure if he wanted to know the answer.

"They want you to help them get rich by making forgeries for them," Peter explained.

"But I don't remember how!" Neal protested, frustrated and desperate.

"I know, Neal, I know," Peter nodded, trying to calm his friend down. "Now what about you? Wasn't Diana supposed to be watching you?"

"She was," Neal said quickly, still trying to slip out of the zip tie. "She was unconscious when he got me out of there...he pretended to be filling in for my doctor...he took her by surprise."

"Is she alright?" Peter asked, concerned.

"I think so," Neal nodded. There was a pause. "What are we going to do, Peter?" Neal asked, his eyes wide and scared like a child.

"Neal, before we do anything, I need you to calm down," Peter said soothingly. "We're going to be fine, ok? I promise. You're going to be fine."

"I can't stay here, Peter," Neal shook his head.

"I know, Neal," Peter said sympathetically. "I'm going to get us out of here. I promise. I just need a little time..."

Neal let his head fall back, his expression distressed. "Ok," he said at last. "I'm trusting you, Peter."

"Thanks," Peter said sincerely. The FBI agent let his head fall back against the support beam, and he began to devise a plan...


	6. Explosive Tempers

_**Sorry this took so long, guys! Good news, though. I have an agreement going with my parents: as long as I maintain a B or above in math (I didn't do so good in math last semester...), I can continue to use the computer (which means I can continue to post this story). Guess who just got an A on her last quiz? That's right. Me. So far, so good, guys. Test tomorrow. Wish me luck!  
>ANYWAY, thanks for reading, and please, PLEASE remember to review!<br>~Erika  
>PS: Sorry this one's kinda short. Little preoccupied with studying, but I felt like I've been keeping you guys in suspense long enough.<strong>_

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><p>"So, what's the news, Doc?" Hazel Eyes asked as Carmichael looked over Neal's file from the hospital.<p>

"Neal sustained pretty serious brain damage," Carmichael sighed, looking at the images from his new patient's MRIs. "I'm honestly surprised he survived..."

"Yeah, dude's stubborn, I got that," Hazel Eyes sighed. "How long until he can start making forgeries?"

"I can't give you a definitive answer, Andy," Carmichael shrugged helplessly. "It could be days, it could be weeks, it could even be months. But right now, he's not very motivated to remember, so it will probably take longer."

"Motivated, huh?" Hazel Eyes raised an eyebrow. He glanced behind him at the closed door separating him from his captives. "Well, we'll just have to fix that, won't we?"

"Andy, don't," Carmichael warned.

"Why not?" Hazel Eyes—Andy—pouted. "You can patch Burke up when Neal starts remembering."

"Not yet, Andy," Carmichael said sternly. "Maybe tomorrow. But right now, Neal is already under a lot of stress. If you start hurting Peter right now, there's no telling what that would do to him. Just let him calm down a little, ok? Then you can do whatever you want to Peter."

Andy let out a weary sigh. "Fine," he agreed at last.

Carmichael studied his colleague. "You know, I'm starting to think you're a little trigger happy," he said critically.

"Starting to?" Andy seemed surprised. "Where have you been all this time, Doc?"

* * *

><p>Hughes and Jones rushed through the hospital doors and hurried to Neal's room. There, they saw Diana sitting in a chair getting a light shined in her eyes by a doctor.<p>

"Diana," Jones said in surprise, causing Diana to turn her attention away from the doctor attending to her. "Are you ok? What happened?"

"Where's Neal?" Hughes asked, his expression grave.

Diana looked down, ashamed. "This guy pretended to be filling in for Dr. Stevens," she told him. "I went into Neal's room first, and when I turned my back on him, he put me in a sleeper hold. Neal tried to help, but the guy took my gun and threatened to shoot him. When I woke up, he was just...gone. I'm so sorry, Hughes. This is all my fault..."

"Damn it," Hughes muttered. "It's not your fault, Diana...how are they doing this? How are they always one step ahead of us?"

"What do you mean?" Diana questioned. Then she noticed something missing. "Where's Peter?"

"They took him," Jones told her with a sigh. "Him and Emily Wall."

"What?" Diana was shocked. "When? How?"

"We were heading back to the office," Jones explained. "They slammed into our car. While I was unconscious, they handcuffed me to the steering wheel and took Peter and Emily."

Diana shook her head. "Why?" she asked no one in particular, giving voice to the question on everyone's mind. "What do they want?"

"I don't know," Hughes admitted. "But if we stand a chance at finding them, we'd better figure it out."

* * *

><p>Neal tugged relentlessly on the zip tie that restrained him to the chair, desperate to get free. He knew that even if he managed to get out of the restraints, he couldn't go anywhere, but it would make him feel better to know that he wasn't <em>completely<em> at the mercy of whoever was steering his chair.

"You're only going to hurt your wrist if you keep doing that," Peter spoke up. It felt like the pair had been in their room together for weeks, but deep down they both knew it could only have been a few hours.

"You're one to talk," Neal snorted, continuing to struggle. "How're those handcuffs coming, Peter?"

"Touché," Peter chuckled, smiling through the pain. His wrists were bleeding, and even the slightest movement caused him extreme pain, but he couldn't make himself stop fighting. The hope that he might somehow slip out of them wouldn't let him.

"Did you see where they put Emily?" Neal asked after a moment.

"Yeah," Peter nodded. "She's in the room across the hall."

"Why are they keeping her separated?" Neal wondered out loud. Both agent and consultant jumped when the door suddenly opened.

"That is an excellent question, Neal," Hazel Eyes approved. "I overheard you while I was in the hallway. And that question is one that I will answer for both of you right now."

Peter and Neal were more than a little surprised when Dr. Carmichael and a man of about thirty-four with short dark brown hair, brown eyes, and the beginnings of a beard on his face entered the room. The doctor went to Neal and unlocked the wheels on his chair, while the other man went to Peter. For a moment, the two of them locked eyes, and Peter saw something in the other man's gaze that puzzled him. It was a look he couldn't identify. But in a heartbeat, it was over, and the man walked around behind him and freed one of his hands, only to bring it around the support beam and recuff it behind his back. The man took out a gun, then began to push Peter toward the door as the doctor began to guide Neal to the doorway as well. For a moment, Peter thought about fighting back, but then he saw the gun holstered on Dr. Carmichael's hip, and he decided against it. It wasn't worth getting Neal caught in the crossfire.

"Let's go," Hazel Eyes said excitedly. He led his captives across the hall to the room Peter had seen them push Emily into earlier. The man grinned at them and pulled open the door. Peter and Neal were forced inside, and what they saw there made their blood run cold.

Emily was sitting on the floor against the wall, her hands cuffed in front of her around a piece of exposed pipe. Like Peter, her wrists were bruised and bloody as she pulled and tugged on the handcuffs, desperate to get free. She was sobbing. Her body was shaking with fear. Her rich brown hair was falling out of her ponytail, the strands sticking to her tear-stained face. But that wasn't what terrified the two captives. No, their attention was held by the three barrels in the corner to her right. Resting on top of them was a pipe bomb. It was the biggest bomb either of them had ever seen.

"See, Emily is here keeping an eye on my insurance policy," Hazel Eyes explained. "I have cameras set up on every possible path to this place for a five mile radius. I have the detonator to that bomb in my pocket. It has a range of about three miles. I have guys monitoring the feeds from those cameras twenty-four-seven. If they see anyone coming who shouldn't be, we're going to scrap the plan. That means that my team and I will be packing up and getting the hell out of here. You three will be staying here. Once we're out of range, I will detonate that bomb, and you three will be incinerated," Peter and Neal exchanged wide-eyed glances as Hazel Eyes explained their predicament, "so you better hope to God that your pals never find you. However, the same consequences will be met if Neal does not perform his prescribed tasks."

"Please," Neal gasped, his eyes wide. "I'm telling you, I don't remember how to do any of what I used to do! I swear!"

"I believe you, Neal," Hazel Eyes assured him. "But that doesn't change the fact that I have a lot invested in you. If you can't deliver the results I was anticipating, then it's better for me to just cut my losses. So, if I were you, I'd start remembering."

"I _can't_!" Neal emphasized desperately. "I don't remember anything. I barely even know who Peter is!"

"That's not my problem," Hazel Eyes shrugged. "Figure it out. Now come on; visiting hours are over."

Peter and Neal, no matter how much they protested, were brought back to their room, and Emily was sealed into her prison, alone with the bomb.

As the new guy brought Peter back to the support beam and looped his hands around it before replacing the cuffs on his wrists, Peter glared angrily at Hazel Eyes, who stood in the doorway.

"Banks," Hazel Eyes stopped the new guy in his tracks as Carmichael joined him by his side. "You stay here, keep an eye on them. I don't like how Burke is squirming."

The new guy—Banks—hesitated for a heartbeat before nodding dutifully. "You got it."

Hazel Eyes nodded, reached out into the hall, and grabbed a chair that had been resting there, putting it inside the room before he and Carmichael left, closing the door behind them.

Peter and Neal watched as Banks went to the door and pressed an ear against the wood, listening as his colleagues retreated. Once he was sure they were gone, he let out a weary sigh and collapsed into the chair Hazel Eyes had provided.

"This was not supposed to happen..." he muttered softly. He sat forward and pressed the palms of his hands together, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his thumbs, looking deep in thought. Peter and Neal exchanged confused glances before returning their attention to the man in front of them. Banks was silent for a moment before standing up and pacing the floor between agent and consultant. Both captives followed his movements carefully. Suddenly, he stopped and turned to them.

"Ok, look, guys," he sighed at last. "I'm going to get you both out of here, but I'm going to need some time and patience from both of you. Can you do that?"

"Uh..." Neal glanced at Peter, then looked back at Banks. "I'm sorry, I think I missed something here."

"Why would you want to help us?" Peter added.

"Well, come on, Agent Burke," Banks smiled, "Can't the FBI and the NYPD cooperate from time to time?"

Peter blinked, seeming to have forgotten how to form words. Neal, on the other hand, remembered quite well, and stared at the man before him in shock. "I'm sorry, what?"

Banks smiled slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. "That's right," he confirmed. "Detective Jacob Byrne, NYPD, nice to meet you."


	7. To Protect and Serve

_**YES! B+ on the math test! Access to the computer continues! And, as promised, here comes the next chapter. Sorry this is a little short. I have a LOT more typed, but I didn't want to post it all at once; this was the best place to cut it off. I'll post the next chapter soon, I promise.  
>Thanks so much for reading, and remember to review, because, in case you forgot, the more reviews I get, <span>THE FASTER I WRITE AND THE FASTER I UPDATE!<span>**__**  
><strong>__**~Erika**_

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><p>"Excuse me?" Peter was sure he had to be hearing things.<p>

"You can't be serious," Neal added.

Banks—Byrne—sighed wearily and once again took a seat in the chair by the door. He was quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

"I have been undercover for eleven months now," he explained, his voice fatigued and serious. "'Deep cover' doesn't even begin to describe how deep I'm in. I _rarely_ have contact with the NYPD. In fact, the only contact I have with them is a check-in with my partner once a month...and when I say check-in, I mean he stands across the street from my apartment and makes sure I'm still alive when I leave it. Any information I pass on I pass through dead drops. If I think my cover's blown, or something goes wrong, there's a number I can call for backup. But other than that, I'm completely on my own."

"Why were you sent undercover in the first place?" Peter questioned, still wary of this man and who he claimed to be.

"We've been after this group for years," Byrne told him, rubbing his neck. "It's a hell of an operation. Everything's compartmentalized. There are countless teams composed of about five or six people spread out all over the country. Each team has members who have certain skills that, combined, make them experts at certain aspects of the enterprise. Members of this organization have been suspected of pretty much every single crime you can think of. I'm talking arms dealing, drug running, art theft, forgery, kidnapping, murder, everything. The members of the team report to the team leader—in our case, that would be Andy Wells, the charming gentleman who brought you two here—and the team leaders report to the big man in charge of the whole operation."

"And who is that?" Peter asked, intrigued.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Byrne sighed, shrugging helplessly. "That's part of what I'm trying to find out. But whoever he is, he's rich, and he looks out for his people; whenever we caught someone we knew worked for him, within two hours, a high-priced defense attorney would show up and get them out. If that didn't work, bail would be posted by the time the day ended."

"Ok, if you're a cop, then why don't you call in the cavalry and get us the hell out of here?" Neal asked nervously, still pulling against the zip tie with all his strength, even as the plastic bit into his flesh.

"I'm sorry, did you miss the part where he showed you the giant bomb in the next room?" Byrne asked sarcastically. "Besides, I've given up eleven months of my life for this. I haven't been able to talk to anyone besides you two...well, ok, besides Peter, who wasn't a criminal, in over eleven months. I haven't been able to see my wife and son in eleven months. And I have done it all so that I could take down some dangerous people. If I call in my backup now, then everything I've been through, all the progress I've made...it will all be for nothing. So I am not going to call anybody until I don't feel like there is any other option."

"Oh, and right now, there _are_ other options?" Neal sounded more than a little doubtful.

"Yes," Byrne confirmed without hesitation.

"Really?" Neal didn't seem convinced. "And what are they?"

"I don't know yet," Byrne admitted. "But I promise, if you both just trust me, I won't let anything happen to either of you, or Emily. You're not in any immediate danger; just give me a little time to come up with a plan to get you all out of here, ok?"

Peter and Neal exchanged glances, both still hesitant to trust.

"Come on, guys," Byrne sighed. "I'm just asking for a little time."

The partners remained silent, a wordless conversation passing between them. Finally, Peter sighed. "What other choice do we have?" he asked in agreement.

Byrne smiled slightly. "Ok," he nodded. Then he paused, thinking. "Well...ok, my next dead drop is tonight. I'll slip something in to let my people know that you're here. My people will then tell your people what happened, jurisdictional chaos will then ensue, there will be a lot of bitching from both parties, and then, finally, someone's going to be put in charge of the investigation. It's likely going to be my people. No offense, but you guys are kinda useless in this situation, and I'm the only one who could have much of an impact on the outcome of this situation. And, voilà, stage one of my plan is complete."

"Really?" Neal nodded with a smile. "And what's stage two?"

Byrne smiled sheepishly. "I don't know yet."

* * *

><p><em>Five hours later...<em>

* * *

><p>Detective Ryan Coyne made his way down the street, his senses on high alert, his eyes darting around to make sure no one was watching him. It was seven in the morning, and he was on his way to pick up the latest intel from his partner, Jacob Byrne. There was a news stand down the street. Coyne stopped in front of it and began browsing the magazines. He saw a <em>News Week<em> that someone had set off to the side, as if they had been reading it, and then were too lazy to put it back when they were done. Coyne scooped it up and flipped through it, as if deciding to buy it. He saw the envelope tucked inside, but didn't give anything away on his face. He closed the magazine, then pulled a couple dollar bills out of his pocket and paid for the magazine, then walked off, pocketing his change. He didn't give the magazine a second look until he got in his car. It was only then that he pulled out the envelope and opened it, plucking out the paper inside. As usual, his partner's message was short and to the point. And it was anything but what he expected.

"Oh God..." he muttered. He pulled out his cell phone and called his boss.

"Yeah, Bale, it's me," he said once the other man picked up. "Yeah, he made the drop. That's why I'm calling," the detective sighed, rubbing his brow wearily. He hadn't been exactly comfortable with Jake going undercover with absolutely no backup. He knew it was the only way to make any progress, but he always feared that something bad, something like what he had just read, would happen. He lost sleep worrying about what could happen to his friend. He worried that one day he would have to tell Jake's wife Alyssa that her husband's cover had been blown, that there was nothing Ryan could have done to save him, even though Ryan himself would never truly believe those words. He would always feel responsible if something happened to his partner and he wasn't there to stop it. He worried that he would have to tell Jake's son Kyle that his dad was never coming home. The whole experience had been nearly as hard on Ryan as it had been on Jake.

"Bale...we've got a big problem..."


	8. Motivation

**_As promised, the next chapter. Thanks so much for reading guys! Please don't forget to review!  
>~Erika<em>**

* * *

><p><em>It was a very rare occurrence, but sometimes it <em>did_ happen: all of his step-father's rage was directed at Emily, not Neal._

_Emily had snuck out of the house after curfew to go pick up a textbook that she left at a friend's house. She needed it to study for a test the next day. When she climbed back in through her bedroom window, he was waiting for her._

_Fifteen-year-old Neal had been in his room down the hall, doing his homework, trying to stay out of Joe's way, when he heard the fighting and the screaming start. Even though he felt a little resentment towards his sister because she was never the one who got in trouble, he couldn't deny that he still felt like it was better him than her. It was for this reason that Neal didn't hesitate to jump off his bed, dart out of his room and race through his sister's door._

_Emily was cowering in the corner as her step-father towered over her. Her lip was bleeding. Her eye was bruised. Her arms were scratched and beat up. Her eyes were wide with terror as tears streamed down her face. Neal felt an overwhelming rage wash over him. He ran at the strong, menacing man and pulled him away from his sister, shoving him across the room._

_"Get the hell away from her!" Neal shouted in anger, standing between him and Emily. When he saw the extent of the rage in Joe's almost-black eyes, his resolve faltered a little, but he stood his ground. The sheer hatred in those dark eyes made his blood run cold. Those eyes haunted his dreams. He feared them almost as much as he feared the man in whose skull they resided. But right now, the owner of those eyes was messing with his sister. And that was not ok with him._

_But, even with his fierce determination to defend his sister, Neal was still just a fifteen-year-old boy, and he was no match for the much larger, much stronger man before him. Joe reached out and grabbed Neal's arm before pulling it, hard, and spinning him around so then he was between Neal and Emily, instead of the other way around. Joe shoved the smaller boy back with all his strength. Neal cried out in surprise, and fell back, whacking his head on the wall, making a dent in the plaster._

_Neal was on the floor, and in an instant, Joe was on him, kicking the child with all his strength. The blows to his chest and abdomen were relentless. Neal pulled his knees up to his chest as best he could, managing to protect the lower portion of his abdomen, and put his hands and arms over his head and face, his heart racing. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw to keep from crying out, waiting for it to be over, or at least for him to lose consciousness. At the rate Joe was landing blows on his head, he knew that the latter would probably be his best bet._

_"Stop it!" Neal heard Emily's desperate cry, and he heard Joe stumble back. Hesitantly, Neal opened his eyes. His vision was blurry and dark around the edges, but he could still make out the image that was taking place in front of him. Emily was standing before him, her back to him, glaring angrily at Joe. For a moment, it looked like Joe might just attack her again, but slowly, the anger seemed to dissipate from the man, and his hands slowly unclenched from their fists. The man shot another angry glare Neal's way, then turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him as Neal began to lose consciousness._

_Emily let out a shaky breath, then turned and dropped to her knees beside her baby brother._

_"Neal," she said urgently, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder and slowly guiding his arms away from his face so she could look at him. "Neal, are you ok? Should I take you to the hospital?"_

_"No," Neal mumbled, only barely conscious. "I've already been...to every hospital...in the area," as he went on, Neal's voice grew softer and weaker, "eventually...someone's going...to start getting...suspicious..."_

_"Neal?" Emily's voice rose an octave in alarm as Neal's words began to run together and he began to lose his grip on consciousness. "Neal, can you hear me? Neal? Neal! Come on, Neal, wake up! Neal!"_

* * *

><p>"Neal!" Neal jolted awake, his eyes wide, breathing heavily, his heart racing. When he looked around and recognized his surroundings as the room he and Peter were being held captive in, he didn't relax much, but he allowed himself to settle down into his wheelchair and look to see who had awakened him. When he did, he found that he was staring into the eyes of Dr. Carmichael. Looking past the doctor, the conman saw Hazel Eyes—Andy Wells, Byrne had called him—leaning against the doorway, his arms folded across his chest, looking at him critically. Peter was still restrained to the support beam, looking at his partner with concerned eyes. Byrne was nowhere to be found.<p>

"You ok?" Carmichael asked his patient hesitantly.

Neal hesitated and let out a weary sigh. "Yeah," he said, reaching up and rubbing his brow with his thumb and forefinger. Then he stopped and pulled his hand away and stared at it in shock; it was no longer restrained to the arm of the wheelchair. The conman turned and looked at the doctor before him, a question in his eyes.

"Well, Neal, if we're going to work with each other, there needs to be a certain level of trust between us," the doctor explained.

"Trust," Neal sounded doubtful. "Right...what happened?"

"You fell asleep," Carmichael told him simply. "You were twitching like you were having a nightmare."

Neal nodded. There was a pause, and then he cleared his throat. "So what do you want?"

"Well, right now, I just want to check in with you and see how you're doing," Carmichael sighed.

"Are you starting to remember?" Wells spoke up from his place in the doorway.

"Sure," Neal nodded. "I'm remembering...just not the stuff you want me to."

"Great," Wells sighed. "Well, then, I guess you'll have to fix that. And soon."

"What are you talking about?" Neal asked slowly, unsure he wanted to know.

"Doc," Andy said with a small half-smile. "If you will."

Carmichael sighed and headed over the where Andy was leaning against the doorframe. Neal watched as the team leader took a knife from his pocket and held it out to the doctor.

"What are you doing?" Neal demanded, shifting in his wheelchair, his eyes wide.

"Hurting him is not going to make him remember anything any faster!" Peter protested, beginning to struggle violently against the handcuffs that bound him, even as pain shot through his wrists, hands, and forearms.

"Relax, Peter," Wells chuckled. "I told you before; we're not dumb enough to hurt our greatest asset."

Neal's eyes widened, realizing what that implied. "No!" he shouted, struggling to stand up and do something to stop them. Andy quickly crossed the room and clamped a hand down on Neal's shoulder, keeping him in place and causing him to wince.

"Don't you touch him," Neal growled, locking eyes with the man keeping him in the chair, then glancing at his partner with wide eyes as the doctor began to advance on Peter. "Stop!" Neal yelled desperately, fighting Andy so much that his captor got frustrated, pulled another zip tie from his pocket and restrained Neal's wrist once more.

Carmichael advanced on Peter, the knife gleaming in the dim lighting. Peter struggled to get free, his eyes wide with fear, all his attention locked on the blade.

"Peter, you're going to have to hold still," Carmichael warned. "Otherwise, I could hit something I don't want to."

Peter didn't respond, but when the doctor put a hand on his shoulder to brace himself, Peter shoved him off, throwing himself to the side around the post as best he could.

Wells rolled his eyes and called to someone who was apparently waiting in the hallway, "Banks!"

A second or two later, Detective Byrne appeared in the doorway. He looked at Peter and Neal with conflicted eyes, then turned to Andy, waiting for him to tell him what to do.

"Hold Burke in place," the team leader ordered. "Make sure he won't move."

Byrne hesitated. He glanced over his shoulder at Peter, and the two locked eyes. Peter looked terrified, his eyes pleading. Byrne flinched and tore his gaze away. He looked down at the concrete floor, then turned back to his boss.

"Andy, please," he urged, shaking his head. "_Please_ don't make me do this...you know this isn't my thing. This isn't what I do."

"I know," Wells actually sounded sympathetic. "And I'm sorry. But this has to be done. And if you're really part of this team, you'll do it."

Byrne hesitated, biting his lip. Then, reluctantly, knowing he had no choice, the detective turned and made his way over to where Carmichael stood before Peter. He walked around the back of the post and grabbed the chain connecting the two metal cuffs around the agent's wrists. Peter winced in pain as the metal bit further into his flesh.

"I'm sorry for this," Byrne whispered sincerely. Then he pushed down on the cuffs, which in turn pulled back the agent's shoulders, pinning him to the post. Peter grunted in pain, but didn't say a word.

"Please," Neal begged, looking up at Andy as he stood over him. "Please don't do this..."

"You've given me no choice," the man shrugged with a sigh, his face expressionless. He turned his attention to Carmichael, who was still standing in front of Peter, looking at his boss, as if hoping he would decide to call off what he was about to do. But his hopes were dashed the next time Andy spoke. "Do it."

Carmichael hesitated. He swallowed, and Peter saw the muscle in the doctor's jaw twitch. It was obvious that he, like Detective Byrne, did not want to do what he was told. But, also like Byrne, he knew he didn't have a choice. The doctor sighed, turned back to Peter, replaced his hand on the agent's shoulder and adjusted his grip on the knife.

"I'm sorry, too," he said sincerely. Then, he plunged the knife into Peter's abdomen, making sure he missed all the major blood vessels and didn't go deep enough to nick an organ. When the blade pierced his flesh, the agent cried out, and fought to get free, which only made it worse.

"Hold him still!" Wells ordered. Byrne, looking away, pulled down harder and then pulled back on the chain in hopes of keeping Peter from moving too much. It worked. Peter's shoulders and upper back were pinned to the post, keeping him from shifting and causing himself more pain.

"Stop it!" Neal shouted, fighting to get free, tears forming in his wide, terrified eyes. "Stop it! Just let him go!"

Carmichael pulled the knife out of Peter's abdomen. The only thing that was stopping the agent from falling to the floor was Detective Byrne holding him to the post. The doctor stared at him in pity, then looked down at the ground and turned back to his leader.

Wells hesitated, looking down at Neal and taking in his horrified gaze, then at Peter, who was breathing hard, and doing everything in his power not to cry out.

"Again," he ordered at last.

"Andy," Carmichael protested, his eyes pleading.

"I said again, Doc," Andy cut him off.

"No!" Neal cried desperately. "No, please! Look, I'm _trying_ to remember! I'm trying as hard as I can! I really am! Just, please, stop!"

Carmichael stopped, looking at Neal with a stressed gaze.

"Doc," Andy quickly got his teammate's attention. "Let's go."

Carmichael opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it. He let out a sigh, then turned back to Peter. The two of them locked eyes, and Peter saw that the doctor's were full of pity.

"I'm sorry," he muttered sincerely. Byrne turned away as the doctor slid the bloody knife blade between two ribs, just below his lungs, even though he knew there was almost no way to avoid hitting a vital organ; he just had to be sure that no hit was too damaging that the agent couldn't come back from it.

Peter cried out, his knees beginning to shake. As soon as Carmichael pulled the blade out of his body, his knees gave out, and Byrne was forced to follow his path of decent so he wouldn't hurt the man further.

"Peter!" Neal exclaimed, desperate to get to his friend's side.

Carmichael and Byrne turned to Andy, both wanting nothing more than to stop what they were doing. Lucky for them, Andy nodded, indicating that Peter had had enough. Both men looked relieved and stepped back, away from the exhausted, bleeding agent.

Andy spun Neal's chair around to face him, his eyes serious. He leaned forward and put his hands on Neal's arm rests, one hand gripping Neal's injured wrist and causing the conman to wince. "Now here's how this is going to work, Neal," he said softly. "In about thirty minutes, I'm going to bring you a painting to forge. Nothing too difficult, not even a famous painting, it's just a test. As soon as you pass that test, I'll have the Doc patch your buddy up, good as new. Understand?"

Neal was silent, his breathing ragged, his eyes wide and fearful.

"Hey," Wells snapped his fingers in front of Neal's face. "I asked you a question, Neal. I expect an answer. Now, do you understand?"

"Yes," Neal replied finally, his eyes wide.

"Good," Andy smirked slightly. He hesitated for a moment, then straightened up. "Doc, let's go. Banks, you stay here, keep an eye on them." He started for the door, and Carmichael followed. "Oh, and Banks," he stopped in the doorway and turned back to where Byrne was leaning against the wall behind Peter. "_Just_ watch them."

Byrne looked down, then nodded obediently. Wells nodded, then he and Carmichael left the room, closing the door behind them...


	9. Secrets Revealed

_**Hey guys! Thanks so much for your support throughout this story. We're nearing the kinda-sorta end-ish, here (yeah, I'm being pretty vague about the ending and when it's coming. Deal with it)! I hope you guys like the chapter. If you guys could shoot me a review, that would be great. Thanks so much!  
>~Erika<br>**_

* * *

><p>"Agent Hughes," Lieutenant David Bale shook the FBI man's hand when Detective Coyne escorted him and his colleague, Agent Jones, into his office. He motioned for the two agents to take a seat in the two chairs on the other side of his desk. Ryan leaned against the wall, his arms folded over his chest, his mouth set in a hard line, his expressions stressed.<p>

"You said on the phone that you might have information on our missing agents?" Jones asked, shifting in his seat and wincing.

"Yeah," Bale sighed. He took a sheet of paper out of his desk drawer and handed it to Hughes. "We have one of our people—Detective Jacob Byrne, Detective Coyne's partner—undercover with the group who took your people. That's the last piece of information we got from him.

Hughes and Jones looked over the paper, reading the short, to-the-point-message.

_Hey Ryan, I'm still breathing. Got a big problem, though. Wells has kidnapped a forger named Neal Caffrey, who's working for the FBI. They also got his handler, Agent Peter Burke, and his sister Emily. As of now, they're both fine, but I have a feeling I'm going to have to get them out of here fast. We're going to have to meet. I'm going on a coffee run tomorrow. Meet me then. –Jake_

"Ok, so where is this guy keeping our people?" Hughes asked, handing the paper back to the lieutenant across from him.

Bale opened his mouth to say something, but Ryan beat him to it, "Absolutely not."

"Excuse me?" Jones asked, his voice a little hostile.

"Look, I am sorry about your people, but I am not going to sit back and let you just charge in there and get my partner killed," the detective growled. "Besides, if we go in there now, everything Jake has worked for will be for nothing."

"And if we don't go in there, our people could get killed," Jones shot back.

"Oh, please," Ryan snorted. "Jake would never let that happen. Look, my partner has given up almost a year of his life for this. If you run in there, there is a pretty damn good chance that Jake is going to get caught in the crossfire. And then I'm going to have to tell his wife and son that he's never coming home because the trigger-happy FBI agents didn't give him a chance to solve their problem on his own. Jake's not going to let your people die. He'll figure something out. Just give him a chance."

"Not only that, but because our guy is the only one in this mess who might be able to do something to help the situation, and because Byrne isn't exactly one who trusts people easily, I think it's best if we run point on this case," Bale didn't hesitate to step in and back his detective up.

"Ok, you know what, it has been a really long day, so I just have one question," Hughes sighed. He turned to Ryan. "Do you really think that your partner can pull this off?"

"Yes, sir," Ryan said readily. "I really do."

"Ok," Hughes nodded. "So then let's skip the jurisdictional pissing match and skip to the part where we all start helping our people, shall we?"

* * *

><p>Detective Byrne put his car in park in the parking garage, looking down, his mind far away. He was so out-of-it, he jumped when the passenger side door opened and his partner climbed into the car.<p>

Ryan noticed his partner's distress, and immediately became concerned. "You ok, Jake?" he asked.

"No, not really," Byrne admitted.

"What happened?" Ryan demanded.

"Wells decided that Caffrey needed some motivation to start remembering his past," Byrne sighed. "He made me hold Burke in place while the doc stabbed him."

"Oh my God," Ryan shook his head. "Is he ok?"

"When I left on this coffee run, he was still cuffed to a support column, bleeding," Jake's expression was stressed and conflicted. "As soon as Caffrey passes Andy's forgery test, Andy'll have the Doc patch Burke up."

"How're you gonna handle this one, Jake?" Ryan asked softly.

"I don't know yet," Jake admitted with a sigh.

"Well, the FBI's getting really itchy about leaving it up to you," Ryan told him honestly.

"I'll bet," Jake nodded. "But you can't let them go in there. Since he took Caffrey, Burke, and Emily, Wells has gotten really, really paranoid. And when I say paranoid, I mean he has cameras on every path to that place and a pipe bomb resting on barrels of chemicals in the basement that he will detonate if he sees people coming for him. That means that Burke, Caffrey, and Emily, will be left there to die."

"Well you better figure something out, man," Ryan warned. "I'm not sure how long Bale's going to be able to keep the G-men at bay."

"I will," Jake assured him. "I don't know how, but I'm going to figure it out."

"I know you will," Ryan assured him. "I'm just saying, the sooner the better."

Jake nodded, and the partners lapsed into silence.

"So how're Alyssa and Kyle?" Jake asked softly.

"They're holding up," Ryan sighed. "Alyssa keeps asking when you'll be home. Kyle keeps asking when the bad guys will be gone so you _can_ come home."

Jake chuckled slightly, though it was more a laugh of sadness than anything else. Ryan smiled sympathetically and reached into his pocket, pulling out a photo of a young boy of about six with the same brown eyes and facial structure as Jake. His hair was a little lighter than Jake's, and more resembled the long, flowing waves of the woman standing behind him, holding his shoulders, smiling at the camera. Her bright blue eyes sparkled with happiness. The boy's attention, however, was focused on the cake in front of him.

"Kyle's birthday party," Ryan told him, handing the picture over. Jake took it with a shaking hand, smiling down at the snapshot with sadness in his eyes. The detective's heart ached as he looked at his family, knowing he couldn't see them, or even keep the picture. A tear escaped the corner of his eye, and he quickly wiped it away, letting out a shaky breath.

"This one can't be over fast enough," he said finally, handing the picture back to his partner.

"I know, man," Ryan said sympathetically, patting his friend on the shoulder.

Jake nodded, then wiped his face to get rid of any latent tears and cleared his throat. "Alright," he said at last. "I should be getting back."

"Ok," Ryan agreed, opening the passenger side door. "Watch your back in there, man," he said before he got out. "I don't want this to be the last time I talk to you."

"It won't be," Jake assured him. "I'm in. I'm part of the team. Nothing is going to go wrong."

"Do you really believe that?" Ryan raised an eyebrow.

"No, not at all, there are a billion things that could go wrong," Jake admitted. "But saying it makes everything seem just a little bit more doable."

"Whatever gets you through the day, man," Ryan grinned. "See ya."

"See ya," Jake nodded as his partner got out of the car and closed the door. Jake waited a moment, then started the car again and took off...

* * *

><p><em>One hour later...<em>

* * *

><p>"Ah, Banks," Byrne stopped in front of the basement door and turned around when he heard Wells say his name...well, the name of the man he was pretending to be. "Where are you going?"<p>

"Back to my post," Byrne said casually. When Andy didn't reply, Byrne cleared his throat. "I hear Caffrey passed the test," he said, his muscles beginning to tense, starting to get a little nervous.

"Yes," Andy confirmed. "The Doc's patching Burke up now. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Sure, what do you need?" though his expression remained neutral, inside, the detective's nervousness level was cranked up a notch or two.

"Not here," Andy said softly. "Follow me."

_Huge red flag,_ Byrne thought, but since he couldn't be sure if his boss was on to him, he followed him as he walked into the room that he had claimed as his office.

"So what's this all about?" Byrne asked, closing the door behind him. As soon as he did, he felt a strong blow to the back of his head. The detective grunted in pain, then fell to the floor, only to be hauled back to his feet and forced into a chair. Before he could even process what happened, he felt his wrists and ankles get secured to the chair.

Byrne, dazed and in pain, groaned and looked around.

"Hicks?" he gasped, looking up at his fellow teammate, a man with black hair and green eyes, standing at about six and a quarter feet. He shifted his gaze to the other man who helped secure him to the chair. "Carr?" the other man was about the same height as Hicks, with short dirty blonde hair and grey eyes. "What's going on?"

"Here's how this is going to work, Banks," Andy said coldly, sitting on the edge of the desk in front of the restrained detective. "I'm going to ask you some questions, and you're going to tell me the truth, got it?" he didn't wait for an answer before he took an eight-by-ten photograph off his desk and held it up in front of him. "Who is this guy?"

Byrne's heart skipped a beat, and he fought to keep the recognition out of his face. It was a surveillance photo of his partner, Ryan.

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" Byrne hoped to God that he sounded convincing.

"Well, wherever you go, he never seems to be too far behind," Andy laughed, though he seemed anything but amused. He took a stack of photos from his desk and held them in front of him, flipping through them. There were photos of Detective Byrne at the news stand, getting coffee, leaving his apartment, and grabbing some takeout. In each photo, a face in the background was circled: Ryan's.

"Ok, so he was following me and I didn't catch it," Byrne was starting to get really nervous. "I got sloppy. But that still doesn't explain why you think I know him. Come on, guys, you know me. We're all on the same team here, right?"

"See, I'm not so sure," Wells said, his gaze venomous.

"About what?" Byrne sighed, as if he were annoyed instead of pretty damn terrified.

"About whether or not you are who you say you are," Andy snapped.

"Really?" Byrne sounded as though he thought the idea was preposterous. "And if I wasn't who I said I was, who, exactly would I be?"

"I don't know," the team leader said, although the way he said it indicated that he might have an idea. "A cop, maybe."

Byrne's eyes widened, and he burst out laughing. "Ok, ok, I get it now," he said between laughs. "This is a joke, right? I mean, come on: Me? A cop? You guys really had me going there for a second. It was good...but I would appreciate it if you didn't make that hit quite so real..."

Not one smile crossed the face of any of the three men before him. Slowly, Byrne's smile faded.

"Wait...you guys were serious?" Byrne said incredulously. "Guys, come on. Do I look like a cop to you?"

"Cut the crap, Banks," Andy snapped. He flipped to the next photo. This was one of Ryan getting out of his car earlier that day. "At the very least, you know him. We figured out who he is; his name is Detective Ryan Coyne. He works for the NYPD. So, tell me the truth, Banks...if Banks is even really your name. Are you a cop?"

"I can't believe this," Byrne muttered, looking annoyed, even as his heart raced. "No!"

"Now why don't I believe you?" Andy asked through narrow eyes. "Oh, that's right, because we already know who you really are!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Byrne shouted, his heart rate continuing to climb.

"We followed Detective Coyne for a while," Andy continued. "He visited the same house every Friday when he wasn't following you. We got curious, so Hicks broke in one day while the owners were out. He brought back this," the team leader reached behind him and picked up a framed photograph, holding it up so Byrne could see. It was then that Byrne allowed the panic to manifest itself on his face.

The detective was staring at a family portrait. In the portrait, Byrne saw a beautiful woman with long, wavy light brown hair and blue eyes. In her arms, she held a five- or six-year-old boy with short light brown hair, chocolate brown eyes and a giant grin on his face. And standing behind them, his arms around them both, was himself. It was _his_ family portrait.

"It's nice to officially meet you, Detective Byrne," Andy said acidly.

Byrne looked down, knowing he couldn't talk his way out of this one. This—his cover being blown—was his nightmare scenario. And his nightmare had come to life. There was no use in denying it anymore.

"How long have you known?" he asked finally, his voice flat and hopeless.

"Not long," Andy assured him. "We've only suspected for about a month, and we only got this confirmation today. Look, Hicks and Carr, here, are feeling pretty betrayed right now, but I get it, Detective. You were just following orders. Unfortunately, this new development means that I'm going to have to scrap this project, and you."

Byrne's already-high heart rate climbed even higher as he began to turn his wrists in an attempt to get free.

"But before all that," Andy continued. "There are a few things I need to know."


	10. Blow Me Away

_**Hi everyone! Sorry this one is a little short. This was the most suspenseful place I could cut it off. Thanks for reading, and please, please, PLEASE remember to review! Thanks!**_  
><em><strong>~Erika<strong>_

* * *

><p>Peter flinched as Dr. Carmichael finished stitching the wound in his lower abdomen closed. Neal looked on from the other side of the room, his eyes wide with concern. His hands were still smeared with paint from a little earlier, when he successfully forged the painting he had been given by Andy as a test.<p>

"How'd you manage to do that, Neal?" Peter asked, flinching as Carmichael taped a square of gauze over the newly-closed wound and turned his attention to the one a little higher up his chest.

"I don't know," Neal admitted, shaking his head. His wrist was once again free, and the doctor had taken the brace that had held his arm against his side, saying that it wasn't really necessary to begin with. "It was weird...I was staring at the painting, and I had no idea where to start, and then an instinct just took over..."

"Well, thanks for that," Peter grinned, wincing as the doctor began to stitch the wound in his ribs closed. All the while, Carmichael was silent, and wouldn't meet either man's gaze.

They sat in silence for a moment or two longer, until the doctor finished stitching Peter up and placed another square of gauze over the injury. Then, just a second or two afterwards, Carmichael's phone went off. The doctor stood up and pulled the phone out of his pocket, glancing at the screen. The doctor frowned.

"What?" Neal asked hesitantly. "What is it?"

Carmichael hesitated, as if debating whether or not to tell them what had happened. Finally, he sighed. "Andy found out that Banks is a cop," he said at last. "He's scrapping the plan."

"You mean...?" Neal looked at the doctor with wide eyes. Carmichael nodded gravely.

Peter and Neal exchanged wide-eyed glances. Carmichael looked pained. He looked behind him at the door, then at Peter and Neal, then back at the door. He let out a sigh, then took a handcuff key and a pocket knife from his pocket and used the key to free Peter.

"What are you...?" Peter didn't know what to think as the cuffs fell off his hands and he brought them around the post.

"Go get Emily and get out, ok?" Carmichael ordered, pressing the key and the knife into Peter's hand. "When you go up the stairs, Banks is going to be in the room three doors down. Make sure we're gone before you go up there. I'm not going to cover for you."

"Why?" Peter asked, confused.

"I'm a doctor, Peter," Carmichael said with an exasperated sigh. "My job is to help people live, not let them die. I can't just leave you both here to die. I can't justify it to myself. I gotta go. Good luck!" With those final words, Carmichael stood and scurried out of the room.

Peter was frozen in shock for a moment before he snapped out of it and got to his feet. "Neal," he said urgently. "Do you think you can walk? The wheelchair is going to be too much of a hassle to drag up the stairs."

"Yeah," Neal assured him, sliding his braced leg off the leg support and getting to his feet. He hesitantly put his weight on his braced leg, and gasped in pain.

"Neal!" Peter said, concerned, rushing to his friend's side and steadying him. "You ok?"

"I'll be fine," Neal assured him. "Let's go."

Together, Neal leaning on Peter for support much of the time, the two made their way out of the room and across the hall to Emily's room, being as quiet as possible. Emily looked up, surprised, and when she saw Peter and Neal standing before her, her surprise became shock.

"How...?" she began.

"No time," Peter cut her off, gently letting Neal lean against the wall before rushing to her side and unlocking her cuffs. "Are you hurt? Can you walk?"

"No, I'm fine," Emily assured him, quickly getting to her feet. Meanwhile, Neal, biting his tongue against the pain, limped across the room to look at the bomb.

"Neal," Peter hissed. "What the hell are you doing? Let's go!"

"I can diffuse this, Peter," Neal said softly, studying the bomb.

"What?" Peter gawked. "Neal, we don't have time for that!"

"We don't know where we are, Peter!" Neal shot back. "We could be in a neighborhood with kids for all we know! If I can diffuse it, and I'm pretty sure I can, then you have to let me try!"

"No, Neal," Peter shook his head. "I'm not leaving you behind. Your memory is sketchy at best. I don't think _now_ is the time to see if you can remember how to diffuse a bomb. He could detonate the damn thing at any moment!"

"And you're wasting time!" Neal shouted. "Take Emily, find Detective Byrne, and get the hell out of here! I'll diffuse the bomb and meet you outside. I remember doing something like this a really long time ago. I can do this, Peter. Now go!"

Peter hesitated, obviously wanting to refuse.

"Please, Peter," Neal begged. "Just get my sister out of here. I'd only slow you down anyway."

Peter again hesitated. Finally, he sighed. "If you are not out in three minutes, I'm coming back in for you, got it?"

"Got it," Neal nodded. "Now go!"

Peter and Emily turned and quickly left the room. Peter couldn't quite run, but he was surprised just how fast he was moving.

Peter moved ahead of Emily when they got to the top of the stairs, motioned for her to be quiet, and silently opened the door a crack, peering out. He was looking out at what appeared to be an abandoned office building. It was deserted; not a soul was to be found. Peter glanced at Emily, then pushed the door open wide and crept upstairs. Emily followed close behind as Peter counted the doors on his right. One...two...three; on the third one, Peter stopped and pushed the door open. The room was empty, except for a figure slumped over, bloody, in a chair in the middle of the room. It took Peter a moment to realize it was Detective Byrne.

"Byrne?" Peter said urgently, making his way to the man's side. His face was bruised, swollen, and bloody. Blood stained his clothes, and he looked...broken, in every sense of the word. "Byrne, can you hear me?"Anxiously, Peter checked the man's pulse. He was relieved when he discovered that the man still had one.

"Hold on, Byrne," Peter urged, taking out the knife and cutting the detective free. "We're gonna get you out of here."

Peter picked the man up over his shoulder, trying to ignore the incredible pain that shot through him. "Come on," he said to Emily. Together, the pair made their way out the door and into the parking lot in front of the building. They were in the warehouse district, Peter realized; there was no one anywhere near them. Peter gently set Byrne down on the ground and looked at his watch, then up at the abandoned office building.

"Come on, Neal..."

* * *

><p>Neal studied the bomb before him, trying to remember how to diffuse it. The memory he had told Peter about was a little hazy, but he had been confident he could figure it out quickly. Now, he wasn't so sure. It seemed like hours before he finally realized he was never going to be able to remember in time.<p>

"Screw it," Neal muttered. He carefully picked the bomb up off the barrels of chemicals, and got out of the room as fast as he could, rushing to the room farthest from the stairs and pulling it open wide. It was a storage closet, full of filing cabinets and other office crap. Neal placed the bomb in the farthest corner, behind a filing cabinet, then rushed out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him. Then he ran—well, more like limped quickly—down the hall and up the stairs. In just a few seconds, he was up to ground level and headed for the exit.

He was so close. He was _so close_...

* * *

><p>Peter paced the ground in front of Emily, the unconscious Detective Byrne, and the abandoned office building that had been their prison, anxious, glancing at his watch ever five seconds and looking up at the building to see if Neal was coming.<p>

The explosion was deafening. The shockwave cause the FBI man to stumble and duck. He recovered quickly and turned back to where the building stood...just in time to see it shake, and finally collapse.

Peter turned away and covered his eyes with his arm to protect himself from debris. The second the dust settled, he turned back to where the building once stood, his eyes wide with terror. Behind him, Emily's mouth was agape, and there were tears forming in her eyes.

Peter stared at the wreckage for a moment or two, unable to register what happened. Finally, he found his voice.

"_Neal!_"


	11. Trapped

Peter ran toward the debris, not even feeling the stab wounds in his abdomen, his only thoughts focused around Neal.

"Neal!" he called throwing pieces of drywall, mangled office chairs, and broken pieces of desks aside in his search for his friend. He didn't even notice when bits of broken glass scraped his hands. "Neal! Can you hear me?" he waited to see if he heard anything. "Neal! Come on, Neal, talk to me, where are you?"

"Peter," the call was so weak, Peter barely heard it.

"Neal?" Peter was unsure if what he heard was real, or if he was just hearing what he wanted to hear.

"Peter," there it was again. "Peter, I'm over here..."

Peter ran toward the voice, throwing debris out of his way. Finally, he found his friend lying just a few feet in front of him. Peter dashed forward as fast as he could...and froze when he saw what exactly had happened to his friend. A huge shard of glass was sticking out of the middle of his abdomen. He was struggling to breathe. More shrapnel stuck out of his body, staining his hospital-issue white t-shirt with crimson blood. Bits of metal and glass had shredded his friend, and the stitches in his head had torn open.

"Oh, God," Peter muttered, negotiating the minefield of debris to get to his partner's side. Before he knew it, Emily had joined him, dropping to her knees beside her brother.

"Neal..." she gasped, tears running down her face.

"I can't look up to see for myself, Peter," Neal sighed, his voice barely audible. "I'm too scared of what I might see...so tell me the truth...how bad is it?"

Peter looked at his friend's mangled form. His arms and legs were twisted and broken—if the car crash hadn't broken those bones, this definitely had. The brace keeping his dislocated shoulder in place had been torn and was now wrapped uselessly around his chest as his arm was left out to the side, bent awkwardly. Objectively, Peter knew Neal's chances for survival were slim, but he couldn't say that; he couldn't admit it to himself, much less Neal.

"You're going to be fine," Peter assured him, and, to an extent, himself.

"You dint ansr my question," Neal said seriously, his words slurring, tears beginning to form in his eyes as the initial shock began to wear off and he started to feel all the broken bones he had and all the shrapnel that had decided to call his body its home. "How badisit?"

Peter hesitated, pressing his lips together. Finally, he sighed. "It's pretty bad," he admitted. "But you're going to be fine, ok, Neal?"

Neal didn't respond as he let out a shaky breath. Sirens sounded in the distance, getting closer. Peter looked over to where Detective Byrne's body lay in the middle of the parking lot.

"Emily, I need you to go check on Detective Byrne," Peter ordered.

Emily shook her head. "No," she refused. "I'm not leaving him."

"Emily, go check on the detective," Peter said a little more firmly.

"I already abandoned him once!" Emily said desperately. "I'm not going to do it again!"

Peter let out an exasperated sigh, then glanced back at the detective. After a moment, he looked back at Neal. "I'll be right back, ok, buddy?" Peter said with a worried smile. "I just have to go check on Byrne."

"Ok," Neal agreed, still struggling to breathe normally. Peter smiled at him, and stood up...then he froze when the ground swayed beneath him and they heard a huge creaking sound.

"What was that?" Emily asked nervously, slowly standing up. The creaking got worse with every movement.

"Emily, don't!" Peter shouted. It was too late. The floor beneath their feet was suddenly gone, and all three of them were falling. They hit the floor of the cellar with a crash. Neal made a sound like the wind was knocked out of him, and Emily cried out in pain. Peter landed on both feet, but soon fell backwards, unable to maintain his balance.

Peter faired the best of the group. Emily was on the ground on her side, her right knee up to her chest, tears in her eyes, her right ankle already bruised and swollen. It was likely broken. But Peter was more worried about Neal. He scrambled over to his friend's side as he gasped for air, his eyes wide.

"Neal!" Peter said urgently. "Neal, look at me, ok? Look at me. Just breathe. It's going to be ok, buddy, just breathe through it, ok? It'll pass, I promise. Just keep breathing for me, ok?"

Neal's eyes were wide with panic as he fought to get air into his lungs. Eventually, as Peter had promised, the breaths came easier, and the injured man relaxed slightly, though not much, as he began to feel all the pain he was in. The initial shock that had protected him from feeling many of his injuries was wearing off, and fast.

"It's going to be ok, Neal," Peter soothed, looking his friend over. Thankfully, none of the major, life-threatening injuries seemed to have gotten worse. The many broken bones he suffered seemed to have shifted painfully, but other than that, none of the shrapnel seemed to have caused any more damage it already had.

"Emily," Peter said, looking over at Neal's sister as she fought to keep the scream that was itching to explode from her mouth inside. "Are you ok?"

Emily swallowed the lump in her throat and took a deep breath, then nodded. "I'll be fine," she assured him through clenched teeth. "How is he?"

"He's been better," Peter admitted. Above them, they could hear the sirens as the ambulances and squad cars arrived. Peter looked up, but he couldn't see anything.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Can anybody hear me? We're down here! Hello?"

"Burke!" Peter was surprised to hear Hughes's voice above him. "Burke, is that you?"

"Hughes?" Peter called up. "Yeah, it's me. We're down here! The floor caved in!" The FBI agent heard movement above him, and in seconds, Hughes and Diana were looking down at him.

"Burke," Hughes looked relieved. "Thank God. How is everyone?"

Peter looked down at Neal, his eyes worried. Then he looked back up at his boss. "Neal's in bad shape, Hughes," he told him. "He's in really bad shape."

"And Emily?" Hughes asked as Diana stood up and began walking around the hole in the direction of the stairs.

"Broken ankle," Peter responded. "Nothing too serious."

"And you?" Hughes questioned, looking his agent over as best he could.

Peter shook his head. "I'm fine," he said dismissively. "But Neal needs help. He needs help badly."

"There's too much debris on the stairs, Peter," Diana reported. "There's no way for us to get down there."

"Well we need to figure something out," Peter called up to them. "Now."

"I'll go get some rope and we can send someone down there," Hughes told him, standing up and heading back to the crowd of vehicles.

"Peter..." Neal's voice was shaky as he spoke, and full of pain and fear.

"What?" Peter looked back down at his friend, but Neal wasn't looking at him. Peter followed his terrified gaze, and his eyes widened.

Neal's mangled left arm was at his side. He was slowly turning his hand over, clenching his jaw against the pain it caused to his shattered bones. The entire underside of the conman's hand was shining with crimson blood. Peter looked to see where it was coming from, and was shocked when he saw the blood leaking out from under Neal's body.

"Hughes, hurry up!" Peter shouted urgently. "Hold on, Neal. Just hold on, ok?"

"What's going on?" Emily demanded, standing up and limping over to her brother. When she looked down at all the blood, her eyes widened and her hands flew to her mouth.

"What is it?" Diana called down from above. She couldn't see Neal because Peter's body, as well as Emily's, was blocking her view.

Peter didn't answer. He was torn. He wanted to find where the bleeding was coming from and hopefully stop it, but he knew that the way Neal was impaled by that glass, if he tried to move him, he could very well nick—or worse, sever—his spinal cord. It killed him, but in the end, he elected to leave Neal exactly where he was, and wait anxiously and impatiently for help to arrive.

He didn't have to wait for too long. Within minutes, several a couple paramedics and a cop or two dropped down onto an overturned filing cabinet and into the hole. While the cops went through the building as best they could with the debris, searching for any potential dangers, the paramedics quickly began tending to Neal.

The first paramedic quickly took out a tiny flashlight and shined it into Neal's eyes, checking their responsiveness. "Neal," he said as his partner, a young man of about twenty-seven, began to analyze the consultant's other injuries. "Neal, can you tell me what happened?"

"I got bln up," Neal slurred. Peter's heart ached when he saw how weak his partner was getting.

"We gotta move him," the second paramedic told his partner. "We gotta see where that blood's coming from!"

"I'm sorry, Taylor, are we seeing the same thing, here?" the first medic criticized. "If we move him, we could paralyze him!"

"Did you fail geometry, Radkey?" the second medic, Taylor, snapped. "Look at the angle of that glass. It looks like it's close to his spine from this end, but look at the angle. It's actually about three and a half inches from his spine. So let's find out where the blood is coming from, shall we?"

The first man, Radkey, was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded and turned his attention to Neal as he moved so he could hold Neal's head steady. "Ok, Neal, this is going to hurt, but just bare with us, ok? We'll try and get done quickly."

Neal nodded and took as deep a breath as he could manage before Taylor, as gently as he possibly could as Radkey kept his head stable, rolled him onto his right side. Neal screamed in pain as his broken bones moved under his skin. Emily whimpered and covered her mouth with her hands, turning away, unable to look at the unbearable pain portrayed on her little brother's face for any longer. Peter, too, looked away, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw. After a moment, he turned back.

"Well here's our problem," Taylor muttered, quickly going to his bag and grabbing a few thick squares of gauze. There was a piece of metal in Neal's back that had shifted when he hit the floor. It had twisted, so the wound couldn't close.

"Hold still, Neal," Taylor warned, gently grabbing the shiny metal. "This is going to hurt."

Slowly, the paramedic drew the sharp metal out of Neal's skin. Neal shouted his pain to the world, until, finally, it was over, and Taylor pressed the gauze against the hole left behind. Slowly, the paramedics lowered the broken man back down onto his back. Neal's eyes were closed. Sweat glistened on his brow. His jaw was clenched tightly closed. He was breathing hard, and his breaths were shallow.

"Neal," Peter spoke up. Slowly, his partner opened his eyes and looked at him. "You're going to be ok. I promise."

Neal hesitated, then nodded quickly. "I trust you Peter," he said through clenched teeth. Peter smiled slightly.

Just then, the cops came back, running, their sleeves covering their noses and mouths.

"Everybody's got to get out of here!" one of them said, his eyes panicked. "Now!"

"What?" Emily was shocked.

"We can't move him," Redkey denied. "It could kill him!"

"Well if you don't, he's going to die anyway!" the second officer shouted through his sleeve.

"Why?" Peter demanded.

"There are a few barrels of chemicals in one of the rooms," the first officer explained breathlessly. "When the bomb went off, one of them knocked over, and the seal on it broke. The chemicals inside spilled out. And if we don't get out of here fast, it's going to be a crappy end for all of us. So if we could get a move on..."

"What was in the barrels?" Peter demanded.

"Acryloyl chloride," the second cop said, his arm still over his face. "It's very flammable, very corrosive to skin and, well, anything organic, and very dangerous when inhaled. And there's an exposed wire in that room that can spark it at any time. If we don't get out of here now, we could get trapped in here. We could all die."


	12. Black Dead Eyes

_**Hey everyone! Sorry this took so long. I've been SO busy. Tons of homework, studying for tests, and I also made the JV softball team, so that takes up a lot of my time. Anyway, This will be the last chapter of this story, but don't worry. There will be a sequal...one of these days...Bear with me, guys. This is difficult for me too. Also, sorry this is a short one.**_  
><em><strong>~Erika<strong>_

* * *

><p>"You can forget it," Peter said firmly. "I'm not going anywhere."<p>

"Me either," Emily agreed, folding her arms resolutely over her chest.

"Look," the first cop, slowly lowering his arm, said. "You two," he gestured to Taylor and Radkey, "can stay here and get him ready to move. But any non-essentials need to get out of here now, let's go."

With that, his partner went to Emily, and began guiding her to the filing cabinet, above which there was yet another cop waiting to pull her out. Emily fought him with all her strength, but her broken ankle wasn't helping her case.

"Neal!" she cried desperately, struggling to get free. She was no match for the stronger, able-bodied officer. Neal looked at her, wide-eyed, from his place on the ground, but didn't say anything. The first cop began advancing towards Peter.

"You touch me," Peter warned, "and I swear to God, _you_ will be the one on their way to the hospital, not Neal."

The officer hesitated, taking in the vicious look in Peter's eyes and knowing he was completely serious.

"Peter," Neal gasped. Immediately, Peter turned his full attention to his friend. "Go. I don't...I don't want you getting hurt..."

"I'm not going anywhere, Neal," Peter said firmly, shooting a rabid glare at the officer before him, who was still debating whether or not he should take his chances with the wounded agent. Behind him, his partner had already succeeded at pulling Emily away from the scene.

The tiniest of smiles pulled at Neal's lips, and he let out a half-chuckle. "And you tell me _I'm_ stubborn," he criticized. Peter smiled back worriedly.

Eventually, the cop accepted that he was never going to be able to make Peter leave, and got himself the hell out of there. Hughes and Diana were forced away from the edge as everyone was evacuated from the area. Peter saw the chloride slowly trickling into their room, and still Neal was not ready to move. Peter stared at the liquid gradually advancing toward them, his gaze worried. When he finally looked back at Neal, his concern and worry was kicked into high gear.

Neal was growing weaker rapidly as Taylor secured a brace around his neck. His eyes were beginning to close. His skin was chalky and white. His breaths were getting weaker. He was dying, and Peter knew it.

"Neal," he said, getting the consultant's attention as the pair of medics removed the less severe shrapnel from his body. Neal forced his eyes open a little bit to look at him. "Neal, stay with me, ok? Just stay with me. Promise me you won't let go, ok? Promise me, Neal."

Neal nodded shakily. "I promise," he gasped shortly.

"Good," Peter nodded. He turned his attention to the medics. "How're we doing?"

"We need a few more minutes before we can even consider moving him," Taylor told him as he moved the plastic stretcher he had been given into position beside the broken conman.

"Well you better go faster," Peter warned. "That chloride's getting closer fast."

Taylor and Radkey nodded, beginning to work faster. Peter turned back to Neal. For the next three minutes, as the chloride continued to creep closer and closer, the FBI man tried to keep his friend engaged. But by then, he had begun to smell the fumes, and he was coughing like crazy. He breathed into his sleeve and tore off a piece of his ruined shirt, placing it gently over Neal's nose and mouth in an attempt to filter out the fumes.

Another minute passed. The chloride was now six inches away from Neal's bare foot. Peter was getting more and more anxious. Finally, Taylor spoke up.

"Ok, I think we can move him now," he said through his sleeve. He and Radkey gently pulled all of Neal's broken limbs in to his body, so he was lying flat with his arms at his side. Neal cried out in pain, the sound muffled by his makeshift air filter.

"Alright, Peter," Taylor said, locking eyes with the agent. "I need you to support his head. We're going to move him on three, ok?"

Peter nodded, quickly moving into position. He took a deep breath of fresh air, and then used both hands to cradle Neal's bleeding head.

"One, two, three," on the last count, the three men picked Neal up and placed him on the plastic stretcher. Peter's arm flew to his face and he gasped in air, coughing against the fumes as Taylor strapped Neal in to the yellow plastic board.

"Burke!" Peter heard Hughes shout his name from somewhere up ahead. "Burke, you gotta get out of there now! That chloride's gonna blow any second!"

By then, Neal was strapped in, and the medics were ready to go.

"Alright," Peter said to them. "You two get Neal out of here, ok? I'll be right behind you."

"Agent Burke, you're hurt!" Radkey protested. "You should go first."

"We don't have time to argue about this!" Peter snapped. "Go! Get him out of here!"

Taylor and Radkey hesitated for only a moment or two, then each of them grabbed a side of the stretcher and, on the count of three, stood up, lifting Neal with them. They carried the injured conman over to the filing cabinet. Keeping Neal as level as they could, they climbed up on top of it and lifted Neal up over their heads, placing him on the solid ground above them. Then the two of them climbed up and out.

Peter jumped when he heard a loud _woosh_. Suddenly, a line of flame was headed right for him. In a split second, Peter realized that there was a line of chloride in front of the filing cabinet. If it ignited, Peter would be trapped. The agent ran forward and leapt onto the filing cabinet. Seconds later, the chloride was in flames. Peter took a moment to calm down from his near-miss, and then climbed out of the burning room. Taylor and Radkey had already begun to load Neal into the ambulance as he raced for safety. When he reached the line of emergency vehicles, he stopped and doubled over, breathing hard, gripping his stab wounds in pain.

"Burke," Hughes was suddenly at his side. Jones, who had been ordered to stay by the cars when they arrived in hopes of keeping the wounded man out of harm's way, and Diana looked on worriedly. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Peter said firmly. He lowered himself onto the back of the second ambulance as the one containing Neal sped off. Emily was nowhere to be found; Peter guessed she had already been taken to the hospital. The truth was he was definitely not fine, but he didn't want them to waste time worrying about him. "Where's Detective Byrne?"

"He's already been taken to the hospital," Hughes told him. "And I want you to join him; you need to get yourself checked out."

"I'm fine," Peter said firmly.

"That's an order, Burke," Hughes said sternly. "We'll meet you at the hospital."

Peter hesitated, then sighed and climbed inside the ambulance he sat on. Two paramedics were waiting for him. In minutes, they were off.

* * *

><p>Detective Byrne woke up slowly. His eyes didn't want to open. He was still so tired. But eventually, he managed to pry them open and look around.<p>

"There he is," Byrne looked to the side, blinking to clear his blurry vision, and saw Ryan sitting in a chair by his side.

"Welcome back, buddy," his partner grinned. "How're you feeling?"

"Fantastic," Byrne muttered sarcastically, shifting painfully. "What happened?"

"Your cover was blown," Ryan explained. "Burke got you out of there just before the place got blown to hell."

"How is Burke?" Byrne asked, his memory starting to come back in pieces.

"He's going to be fine," Ryan assured him. "A fractured wrist, a couple non-critical stab wounds—all things considered, he was lucky."

"What about Neal and Emily?" Byrne demanded. "Are they ok?"

"Emily's fine," Ryan said quickly, trying to calm his friend down, "just a broken ankle and a sprained wrist."

"And Neal?" Byrne pressed.

Ryan hesitated, then sighed. "He's still in surgery," he admitted. "I haven't heard anything yet."

Byrne nodded, processing the information.

"Well, this has been fun, man," Ryan smiled. "But I think there are some people who would like to see you."

Byrne blinked, confused, as Ryan stood up and went to the door, pulling it open and leaning out. Seconds later, a six-year-old boy with his father's eyes dashed into the room.

"Daddy!" He cried excitedly, climbing up on Ryan's chair to give his father a hug. It hurt like hell, but Byrne didn't care. With tears in his eyes, he hugged his son tightly.

"Hey, Kyle," he said happily, the sound muffled by his son's t-shirt. He looked up to see his wife standing beside him. Without a word, Byrne reached out and pulled her into the hug as well.

"We were so worried about you," Alyssa whispered in her husband's ear.

"I know," Byrne said softly. "And I'm sorry. But I promise, I'm never going to put you two in that position again. I promise."

Alyssa just nodded, at a loss for words.

Ryan looked on in silence for a moment, smiling to himself. Then, silently, he slipped out of the room to give the newly reunited family some time alone.

* * *

><p>Peter looked through the window at Neal's still-unconscious form. Dr. Stevens, whose wife did in fact have a baby the day he disappeared, stood beside him.<p>

"He's going to be fine, Peter," the doctor assured him. "They were able to get all the shrapnel out without difficulty. The only head trauma he received was very minimal. He's going to be fine."

"You're sure?" Peter pressed.

"I am sure," Dr. Stevens nodded.

Peter sighed. "Ok, thanks, doc," he said finally. Stevens nodded slightly and walked off. Seconds later, Hughes came up to him.

"How's he doing?" Hughes asked.

"He'll be fine," Peter said with a sigh. "The doc said the sedative will wear off in a couple of hours."

"Good," Hughes said sincerely. Then he sighed, "I'm just glad this is all over." Hughes started to walk off.

"But it's _not _over, Hughes," Peter said after a heartbeat or two. Hughes stopped and looked at him.

"What do you mean?" the older agent asked.

"Neal and I are back, yes," Peter sighed, not taking his eyes off Neal. "But the people who took us aren't the ones who put Neal in the hospital to begin with."

Hughes slowly started walking back toward his colleague. "And why do you think that?"

"Oh, come on, Hughes," Peter scoffed. "They wanted Neal because they saw him as an asset. Why would you run your potential asset down with a car?"

Hughes was silent, realizing that Peter was right.

Peter looked in at his unconscious friend with worry and pity in his gaze. "We may have won this battle, more or less," he said gravely, "but the war has just begun. We still have no idea who tried to kill Neal in the first place."

* * *

><p>"<em>I'm going to kill you, you son of a bitch!" Neal stared into the deep, dark, rage-filled pools, and terror shot through him to his core. He was frozen in his tracks. "I don't care how long it takes, or how far you run, or what dark rock you decide to hide under, I will find you, and I will kill you! You can't hide forever." Neal forced himself to look away and start walking, turning his back on the furious words.<em>

"_I will kill you, do you hear me? As soon as you stop looking over your shoulder, I will find you, and I will kill you!"_


End file.
